


Imitation

by girlskylark



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adopted Pidge & Keith, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Allura owns many a brothel, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Assassin Keith (Voltron), Goodie Two-Shoes Lance and Hunk, Homicidal Coran ?, Keith (Voltron)-centric, M/M, Madame Allura, Mutual Pining, Night Angels AU, Occasional blood and gore, Occasional physical violence, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Shiro is a wealthy and also a widow, Space Dad Shiro (Voltron), klance, lmao I have no clue what to title this, nobel house war, street gangs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-14 01:18:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 81,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9150433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlskylark/pseuds/girlskylark
Summary: “Keith doesn’t need our help,” Hunk insisted. “Can we head back? I know you’re, like, obsessed with Keith but stalking him isn’t exactly an orthodox way to—”Lance sputtered instantly, and shoved Hunk square in the chest. “I’m not—I amnotobsessed. Psh, where’d you get that idea?”- - -Keith's life involves survival instincts, even after Allura sweeps him off the streets and deposits him into the arms of his adopted father Shiro. He's thrust into the life of luxury with the equally unrefined Pidge, who is under the guise of Katie Shirogane in public. Everything he does is for Allura's sake, and her future plans to use him as not just a pawn, but the assassin that takes out the corrupted King Zarkon.In order to do so, Keith must befriend the wealthy sons and daughters Shiro associates with, and that includes the heir to the McClain family name, Lance. After years of parading around like the son of Shiro and doing Allura's biding, Keith realizes that there is a lot more to life than doing what other people want. He takes his chances on doing whathewants: to protect Lance and those he loves from the ultimate downfall of the Kingdom.





	1. New Family Business

“I’m not exactly the best influence on your daughter,” Keith admitted, grimacing as he looked anywhere but his newly “adopted father”. The man had one of those magnificent desks Allura didn’t even bother investing in. It was the office—the one _important people_ came into and were intimidated by. They were intimidated by not only the desk, but the massive floor-length windows behind it, and the array of bookshelves spread across the other remaining walls. 

Keith had spent enough time in there to no longer be intimidated by it, or the man behind the desk. He received nothing more than a blank stare from his adopted father before he sighed and said, “Sorry Shiro—it won’t happen again.”

Takashi Shirogane sighed dejectedly, pressing the pads of his fingers to his temples. “ _Nothing_ is a good influence on her. I have a feeling you’ll be just as difficult as her, probably _worse_ as time passes. And I know it’s not your fault. She’s _excellent_ at convincing people to do the wrong thing.”

Keith released a relieved breath. So he wasn’t entirely to blame for what both he and Pidge had done. But that didn’t mean Shiro was any happier about it—it just meant he split the blame in half and gave them both an equal share of punishment. 

“You are supposed to be making _friends_ with my acquaintances’ sons and daughters, and definitely not…”

“Egging them on and beating them to a pulp. Got it.”

“Traditional fencing doesn’t involve _punching_ , or _tripping_ for that matter,” Shiro said, pushing out of his chair and towering over Keith. The boy had to be thirteen years old—but then again, they’d never truly know. Keith was as much of a mystery to himself as he was to everyone else. Most of Allura’s street rats were. “I didn’t take you in to remind Pidge what life was like without rules and discipline. The sons and daughters that visit have reputations to uphold, which includes—”

“An external image,” Keith droned, rolling his eyes, “which means bruises and blood are frowned upon. I _know that_. But _Pidge_ was the one to suggest a sword fight with Prorok’s son, _not_ me. She roped me into it.”

“I didn’t say you instigated it. All I’m saying is that you could have said no. There’s no shame in declining a fight,” Shiro insisted, but Keith scoffed in response, crossing his arms. His expression soured, and it took a moment for Shiro to recover. “You aren’t on the streets anymore. House politics are different. You are part of a family’s _house_ now. Both of your actions reflect on my name— _our_ name.”

At this, Keith’s defensive nature withered. He scratched the back of his head, eyes to the ground. It was the sort of thing he used to do during weekly payment, back where he used to live on the streets. Just hand the change over and don’t make eye contact. The last thing Keith needed back then was a _real_ fight, not a prissy sword fight with Prorok’s son.

“You’re right. Sorry.”

Shiro stared at him from beside the desk, and continued to walk around it and settle his hand on Keith’s shoulder. He gave Keith a reassuring squeeze before saying, “Send Pidge in on your way out.”

“Will do, sir.”

Shiro chuckled a little, and let his hand drop as Keith walked to the exit. He didn’t look back as he left the door open behind him, and found Pidge jumping up from the ground. She’d been sitting across from him in the hallway, just below a landscape painting framed by embossed gold.

Keith nodded to the door, shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “Shiro’s waiting for you.”

Pidge just stared at him as he sidestepped, glancing hesitantly at the door again. Eventually, she uttered, “Did he—? Is he angry with me?”

He scoffed and gave a shrug. “What do you think? _You’re_ the favorite child as of right now. It’s not like you were the one to beat up the kid.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she sighed, shoulders slouching. “Wish me luck.”

“As if,” he laughed, spinning and marching away down the hall. She could fend for herself, especially after initiating the fight. They’d already apologized to Prorok’s son, and now all they needed to answer to was their adopted father.

Keith wandered to the stairs, purposefully avoiding Shiro’s house staff. There weren’t many considering he didn’t even require much help around the house. For the most part, that was Shiro: taking in the less-fortunate. Pidge and Keith included. But unlike Pidge, Keith was a direct reference from Allura. Aside from King Zarkon, Allura was the only other person Shiro answered to. They weren’t even on the same playing field, not exactly, anyway. 

Shiro was within the law, and then there were people like Allura.

Keith didn’t know much about Allura other than the fact that she heard about Keith through… strange means. Keith didn’t quite understand them himself, and until he did… he was parading around like he was the only son of Takashi Shirogane—the wealthy, widowed, “heirless” lord from the city. “Heirless” was used hesitantly by Shiro, since he had every intention of leaving his things to the staff, and mainly Pidge when he would die. 

Keith was just there as a tool for Allura. And he didn’t really mind, because Allura was _incredible,_ to say the least.

  


  


That night, Shiro wasn’t exactly “back to normal”. Dinner was tense, and sitting through it was like waiting for someone to fire a grenade. Pidge looked on edge, which was to be expected. Shiro wasn’t a horrible guy though. He treated them all fairly, but sometimes he could talk and his words could make _them_ feel like awful people. Feeling guilty was always worse than getting a beating, because with a beating, the bruises didn’t last long. 

So when Shiro was disappointed, everyone was. That was just how this household shit worked.

Their plates were taken away, and Keith was itching to get out of there. He knew how to keep his eyes to himself, so he all but stared at his plate throughout the entirity of dinner. Sometimes just looking at a man on edge could set them off—but this wasn’t the street. And Shiro wasn’t that kind of person. But old habits were hard to break.

Eventually, he heard Shiro inhale sharply, as if to speak, and tricked Keith to look at him. When he did, Shiro immediately said, “Since you two officially ruined any business with Commander Prorok, I plan on inviting Lord McClain over sometime in the next week. If you don’t behave—” At this, his eyes skimmed right past Pidge and onto Keith, “—I’ll have a word with Allura.”

 _He wouldn’t_ , Keith shrieked internally. He could have sworn staying with Shiro was a done deal, but not if Allura had anything to do with it. Keith was entirely her pawn—she could move him elsewhere. She had the power to put him back on the streets if she wanted. 

But there was something about Keith that intrigued her, so he could only hope it was enough to prevent her from tossing him out. _Or kill me_ , he mused dreadfully.

Pale, Keith nodded quickly. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

“Dido,” Pidge jumped in. “No funny business.”

Shiro rolled his eyes at her, “What did I say about calling your tricks _funny business_?”

“Well, it _is_? I mean, I got a pretty good laugh out of it but—mmhm, right, no I did not. I did not think it was funny at all,” she corrected herself, now sitting on her hands and sucking in her lips as if to keep silent. That was practically impossible, but the effort was appreciated. “Besides, Lance _loves_ me. I wouldn’t do anything to him.”

“Lance?” Keith repeated. 

“Lord McClain’s son,” Pidge corrected, and grinned evilly. “He’s on my nice list.”

It took a while for Keith to no longer feel disturbed by that. Something was always unnerving about that girl, Katie Shirogane. Her street name had been Pidge, and she stuck to it when they weren’t around company.

“Don’t be surprised if the McClain boy invites the Garrett’s son,” Shiro said, watching them both sharply. He was acting like if he turned away from a split second, Pidge would relay her diabolical plan to Keith. But she was sitting there with that princess smile on her face, completely innocent and looking excited to see the McClains again.

When they were dismissed, Keith trudged after Pidge and tugged on her sleeve. She turned sharply to him, scowling. “What?” she hissed.

“How long have you known the McClains?” he asked. “Why haven’t I heard of them?”

“You probably have, but they haven’t been here in a few months. They used to come around more frequently, but I business is always kinda slow in the colder seasons. From what I overhear, and pick up from Lance—his father is like Shiro. Not entirely with the King, if you know what I mean. But declaring that view in public could get them in trouble so don’t even bring it up in front of Lance. The kid has a big mouth.”

“And the Garretts?”

“Rich, humble, but they bend the knee so to speak. Zarkon sympathizers for the sake of not getting their throats slit.” Pidge waved a hand in the air dismissively. “But they’re good people. I don’t like shitting on them for surviving, you know. It’s like… you trash-talking me for lynching that old guy with a rope for coping a feel.”

Keith floundered for a second before saying bluntly, “Um, _no_ , it isn’t anything like that.”

Pidge laughed like he was just joking around. She flicked him in the arm. “Yeah, sure it isn’t.”

“I find it hard to believe Shiro doesn’t reprimand you for talking like that. He does it with me all the time!” he complained.

“That’s because _you’re_ the one on Allura’s radar, not me,” she said, voice chipper as she proceeded to snicker at Keith, prancing backwards to keep her eyes on his deadly glare. “Al-l _ura needs you, Allura owns you, you’re gonna help her—take down Zarkoonnn_.”

“That doesn’t even _RHYME!_ ” Keith screamed, and Pidge yelped as he went for her, chasing her scrawny, nine-year-old ass down Shiro’s hallways. She giggled like a maniac, twisting around columns and dodging him every where she could. Just watching her every day for all the time he spent being Shiro’s son, he could start to pick out what she used to do on the street. She was probably an excellent pickpocket—could probably be a runner, distraction for the owls when the gangs were doing “business”. It was dangerous calling the police anything other than owls, and once it became unsafe to call them that, the street rats would have to come up with a new nickname.

Pidge leapt onto the ledge of the staircase, up onto the railing, and with her feet catching no traction whatsoever, she floundered up until she was high enough to grab onto the second level flooring. Keith went for her feet, but she swept them up too fast for him to catch. 

Cursing, he hurried up the steps, but it was too late. By then, Pidge and flung herself over the railing, down the hall, and locked herself in her room. He ran up to it, fists banging on the wood before letting out an annoyed howl. He stormed away from her door—he could hear her _laughing in there_.

He supposed getting stuck with a crazy sibling wasn’t too bad. It definitely couldn’t be worse than living on the streets this time around.

  


  


Sure, being a street rat was tough no matter what. Most were corralled in the slums of the city, otherwise known as far, _far_ away from Shiro’s estate. There was only so much for a street rat to do, and in the end all the lying, cheating, and stealing was done in the gangs—practically the only way to survive as a kid. The gangs were run by slightly older kids, who answered to the masterminds that connected all the individual gangs like a web. Of course, once entered into one gang, it was unheard of to associate with another. So regardless of the fact that they all answered to the same person, they were still enemies. Even within the gang, there were enemies. Keith loathed to think of them now. He didn’t even give a shit what they were doing now, but that didn’t seem to stop him from thinking about what it was like the week before he left the streets.

The place they lived was by the harbor, in a rundown building on the verge of collapse, and it was owned by Allura. She did that for a lot of the forgotten kids on the street—gave them shelter where she could. Keith had never met her before then, and hadn’t planned on it. He’d heard stories about the Madame of the Streets. She had a reputation for commanding notice, putting men and women on their knees just to please her in any way they could—whether through money, through work, through… _other things_. 

Allura was a goddess to kids like him. Untouchable. The only person in their gang allowed to see her was the older kid, Rollo. He was probably no more than three years older than Keith—sixteen, most likely, but like Keith not even Rollo knew his own age. No one was around to keep track of their ages after they were born. They jump from group to group before eventually landing themselves in a street gang.

Rollo was Keith’s least favorite person on the planet. The kid deserved to have a noose strung around his neck for the things he did. They were something along the lines of strict payments at the end of each week—everyone loathed the end of the week. If a kid didn’t pay up, regardless of the age, Rollo had his trusty thugs beat the living shit out of them. It was worse if he decided to do the beating himself because he didn’t know how to let up. 

In the time Keith was in that gang, he’d seen Rollo pummel twelve kids to death. The youngest was probably six. Again, Keith didn’t know the exact age.

He hated seeing the bodies afterwards because he couldn’t even recognize who they _could_ have been. Only the rats who saw the beating knew who it was at the start, and they’d mourn the loss without lifting their eyes for Rollo and his thugs to see. They tended to patrol the lot. So while Allura’s shelter was a blessing, it was also where Rollo resided. So it was also a curse.

Keith stuck to himself. Every week he scoured the slums for pennies, wherever they might be. In the pockets of passerbys, beneath tavern floorboards—anywhere. He had to cough up five pretty coins each week. To someone like Shiro, that was nothing, but to Keith, it was food, fresh water, maybe a trip to the bathhouse in shitty, used water. But all that was given up to Rollo at the end of the week. He didn’t keep any of it. The extras he did scavenge were hidden—kids were known for coughing up more than their share if Rollo suspected they had an extra dime.

He liked to think the money went to the food they were given at the end of each day, but he doubted that. He calculated how much, collectively, Rollo got at the end of each week—it should have been enough to afford two half-decent meals a day.

But the thing about Keith was that he used to be completely unable to control his goddamn mouth. When he wound up in the gang, about seven years old while Rollo was about ten, there was another, bigger fella. Rollo was on the verge of being put into the thugs, and he soaked in every lesson the bigger fella beat into the other kids. That fella was Rollo’s idol, and it was unfortunate because his idol happened to loath Keith’s very existence.

It was the first time Keith saw them shake down a kid for having more than his share of coins. The thugs of the gang were about to search the kid, when Keith tore forwards screaming, “Wait! Wait, isn’t it five coins? Why are ya takin’ more?”

Someone shoved him by the arm, and then dragged him back by the neck of his shirt. He choked, hands going to his throat as the leader pegged him down with a withering glare. “Newbie, huh? Ain’t found yer away around yet, huh, you little shit?” he sneered, yellowish teeth gleaming down at him. “That’s the way things are ‘round here. Steal your share, anythin’ more goes to us. Anythin’ you own, we own, ‘else you’ll have to take it up with Madame Allura. Capisce?” 

He hadn’t heard that rule before, but thankfully all he had on him were five coins and his clothes. It didn’t stop the leader from snapping his fingers at one of his thugs and ordering him to cut Keith’s shirt. A lot of kids wore the same shirt every day without change, so it wasn’t uncommon for them to see patches cut clear from the back—small patches, but they all came with small knife marks where the thug cut the fabric while it was still on the kid’s back. The next time Keith got a patch, the leader did it himself, and he bled for days—reopening the wound, accidentally in his sleep.

Patches were usually on the newbies. Once they weren’t newbies, they got beatings. For the most part, he tactfully avoided the beatings, until the day the thugs shook _him_ down no more than a year ago. 

It had been a miraculous day up until that point. It was unheard of to get over ten coins in a week, and Keith gathered a staggering _eleven_. Something like that deserved a bit of bragging—he told one kid about it, someone he’d been talking to lately. When it came time for payments, the kid ratted him out to Rollo, and Keith swore he’d burn the kid to a crisp. He wasn’t able to properly square up to him until after the wounds healed. His eyes were swollen shut for the first three days of the week, which left him with a short window to gather his payment. 

The first thing he did, once the bruises on his stomach were manageable, was find the kid who caused it. He hunted that little shit down as soon as dawn broke, and confronted him in an alley. Keith jumped him from above the building window’s canopy, threw him to the ground by his shirt and cracked his fist down until the kid’s face roughly resembled what Keith looked like. He added a kick to the stomach for good measure and took the one coin the kid managed to nab that week.

It was too late to feel guilty about it, because of course the kid tattled on him again. It was one thing to be beat down by a different gang, but fights within the same gang were frowned upon. Keith returned to the harbor later that same day, and regretted it instantly.

He’d always been a good runner—always faster than Rollo’s thugs. The thugs were stereotypically heavyset and good fighters, but that really dampened their agility. So the second one of them pointed at him, from the front of the building, Keith was on edge. They were walking towards him— _for_ him—so he took off running.

He looked back only once to confirm that they were following him. After that, he kept going. He dodged through crowds and swung up a drainpipe, feet kicking off against the side of a house. He rolled onto the roof, and looked down. Down the street, in a narrow alley between two buildings, he saw the thugs coming. 

The rooftops only went so far, until they were too spread apart for him to navigate on. When he jumped down, the thugs were on him, coming in both directions. He ducked and evaded the first two that collided, and leapt for the wall, kicking off and swinging his feet forward in time to clobber one of them in the face. On the downfall, he collided with the wall and staggered to a stop, breathing hard and frozen when he realized that everyone looked rather confused—several of them recovering.

“Where the hell’d he go?!” one roared—practically a foot away from Keith. One of his hands gripped the brick wall behind him, the other resting on his chest to stop his heavy breathing. His brain was thinking fast—if they couldn’t see him, he couldn’t be certain they couldn’t hear him, either.

“You three, head that way. We’ll take the other path. If ya find him, take ‘im to Rollo. Asked for him ‘imself.”

“Got it,” they said, gathering together and running straight past Keith. He was afraid to move his head, staring wide-eyed at the wall across from him as everyone in the alley disappeared around him. 

They couldn’t see him. He could have stayed in that position all day, if it meant no one could see him, but eventually his hand started to cramp from clinging to the bricks so he let go. He released the breath he’d been holding and reached into the pocket of his jacket, and produced the penny he stole after beating that kid to a pulp.

 _Worth it_ , he thought, and left the alley. 

The second he did, though, he realized that some of them hadn’t left at all. He was tackled from the side and pinned to the ground. Keith screamed until one of the kids shoved a dirty glove in his mouth and taped his hands to his back. 

“I don’t know what _stunt_ ya pulled back there, ya little shit, but Rollo asked for you,” one of them said, yanking him up off the ground. Keith let out a muffled shout, squirming as one of them shoved their shoulder to his still-bruised stomach and heaved him off the ground.

They carried him all the way across the slums. At one point they hid in between the trash bins of a tavern to avoid the prying eyes of the owls, questioning why they were looting around a small, screaming child. Keith would have screamed louder if one of them hadn’t twisted his ear for it.

At the harbor building, Rollo didn’t even wait for them to enter. He barged out the door and stormed towards them. Keith expected him to wait for an audience—Rollo had a thing for punishing in front of the entire gang—but this just couldn’t seem to wait. They dropped Keith, and before he could even recover his breath around the dirty glove, Rollo swung his leg back and kicked Keith square in the stomach.

“Ya think it’s funny, thinking you can pound in another kid’s face, hm? What if we let _everyone_ take out there _childish rage_ on anyone they wanted, hm? That’s why we have a system, buddy, and _you_ don’t go around serving judgement. That’s my job, all right?” Rollo all but spat at him, yanking him up by the shirt to snarl in his ear. 

Rollo flicked Keith back by the chest, and he fell to the ground again, arms still restrained behind him. Rollo nodded to the others, saying, “Take ‘im in. I’ll deal with him later.”

As they started to drag him up, one of them spoke up, “Hang on, about catching him—he gave us a bit of trouble—”

“I’ll pay you for it later,” Rollo said, waving a hand over his shoulder as he started to walk away.

“But he—he disappeared for a second there. Like… what ya said Allura talked about. I’m pretty sure that was—”

Before Keith could catch the tail-end of that, Rollo silenced the kid with a sharp look, and a quick, slicing gesture of his hand. And then, Keith was shoved behind the door, and dragged between the rows of kids beneath the building’s roof. They all kept their eyes down, regardless of how badly they wanted to look and stare. 

The next day Keith could hardly breathe. His ribs ached, and his back was raw—no matter how he laid, something hurt _somewhere_. He was a mess under his blanket, and the following day the only bit of sunlight he saw was when a child lifted the corner of his blanket to see his face. They squeaked and ran off instantly. A little while later someone came back and forced some water down his raw throat. He’d heard of terrible beatings done by Rollo, mostly because the victims couldn’t stop screaming. Now even Keith’s throat hurt.

That day, though, was something he wished he could have seen. He heard it, he _definitely_ heard it, but even when he opened his eyes they watered. It wasn’t like he could see much anyway. There were several gasps nearby, and Keith could hear the door closing. It echoed through the building, and a sound he rarely ever heard began to pass directly through the middle of the room— _heels_ , as in, the sort of shoes wealthy women wore. 

Children were whispering around him, but they all shut up the second Rollo’s voice spoke up, “Allura, you’re early.”

“I came as soon as I could.” The voice was crisp, accented, and rang just like her heels. Even her voice stood out. It was mature and powerful, and she took command instantly. “Give him to me.”

It took a moment for Rollo to respond. “But—Madame, ya can’t just _take_ one of my kids,” he laughed a little, nervously. “He _belongs_ to _me—_ ”

“Yes, and you belong to me. So where that is concerned, your confusion is irrelevant,” she talked fast, and swiftly got to the point. “Show him to me. _Now_ , Rollo.”

And then their footsteps were heading in Keith’s direction. The few kids near him scattered, until there was nothing more than empty sleeping bags, and a single mound of blankets amongst them. Her heels _was so close_. If he could move, his hand could have touched them. 

Instead, she knelt down and threw the blanket off of him. For a moment, she didn’t say a word. The silence was horrifying—Keith knew he should have felt embarrassed to be so weak, so he made an attempt to get up. It must have been the adrenaline at being confronted by Allura that led him to sit up, but a soft hand pushed him back down. She kept her hand there, directly over the tally marks Rollo put down the length of Keith’s arm. If she moved her hand, her palm would be coated in fresh blood. 

“He disobeyed me an’ my men twice, Madame. I had no choice—”

“Shut it,” she hissed. “I don’t care. You are going to carry him to the car.”

Rollo sputtered, squeaking out, “But Allura—”

“Do it. Or do I have to ask a second time,” she snarled, standing. When her hand left his skin, it was sticky, and pulled at the wounds.

Reluctantly, Rollo carried Keith to the vehicle. He didn’t say a word, and Keith imagined he had a grumpy, spoiled look on his face like the child he was. Allura slammed the car door behind him, and took the seat on the other side. Keith’s head lolled back, and he slumped against the door. 

She snapped her fingers and ordered, “Drive. To Coran.”

Keith was so sure he was going to die that day, but contrary to his belief, it was the day he was _almost_ taken off the streets for good.

 _Almost_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR! Here is my new fantasy AU! Yay! I thought of it on the bus ride back home for winter break. It's based on the Night Angels Trilogy, which is my all-time favorite fantasy series. There won't be many spoilers to _that_ series, though, so no worries there if you plan on reading it. A lot will change here, considering romance will end up playing a larger part in this one.
> 
> I'll post again tomorrow since I've been writing all day and have a few back-up chapters! 
> 
> In case you wanna bother me on Tumblr, you can find me under [gurlskylark](http://gurlskylark.tumblr.com/) :D


	2. The McClain Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith meets Lance, flips Lance, and fights Lance.

“He looks like a piece of shit,” Keith muttered from the second story window. He and Pidge were leaning over the windowsill’s padded bench, and when she gave him a glare, he corrected himself: “Excuse me, I meant a _well-dressed_ piece of shit.”

“He is a bit full of himself. I can’t believe you got that just from one look at him,” she mused, impressed. “If I wasn’t _Katie Shirogane_ , I’d so call him that. But alas, here we are.” With that, she swept off the bench and as she strutted for the stairs, she tugged her simple dress straight. Keith rolled his eyes. He was used to Pidge’s fluctuating appearances. She was a master of disguises.

Just on time, Shiro called them down, but Pidge was already flaunting down the stairs. Keith swung around the railing post, and hesitated the second Shiro gave him a warning look. He dropped his hands instantly and walked normally down the stairs, without that _“swagger_ ” Shiro swore he had. Keith wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean.

Shiro led them out of the house, where the gates were just being opened to the three men strutting in. Keith assessed them quickly, as he often did, and let his watchful eyes drag across Lord McClain. The man was tall and lanky, with an angular head of greying brown hair. His facial hair was close-cut, but not invisible, much like the fact that his suit was subtly patterned upon closer inspection. Keith’s eyes were then drawn to the next most-noticeable piece of the bunch: the boy whom Pidge described as Hunk.

Hunk was exactly like Pidge described him: soft-looking with the air of someone who knew all the good things in life and none of the bad. He wore white, Keith noticed, and his shoes were freshly polished and clean. Hunk’s wide features and winning smile were enough to convince Keith that, even while he himself was cynical, Hunk was a ray of sunshine he could tolerate.

“Katie!” Hunk cried out, throwing his arms up. 

Pidge spread her arms out with a hesitant smile. “Hunk! It’s been a while! How was that project you were working on?”

“Oh, it was great, until it exploded. My father’s pretty angry about that—it set one of his favorite rose bushes on fire,” he explained, tapping a finger nervously to his cheek. “But it’s all fine now! I’ll tell you all about it later, after you introduce me to your new brother.”

The term “new brother” felt weird in Keith’s mouth, so he didn’t address it. He reached a hand out to Hunk as Pidge said, “Hunk, meet Keith, Keith, this is Hunk Garrett. His father owns the manufacturing company that designs and builds the automobile.”

“That’s incredible,” Keith commented, and Hunk blushed and waved a bashful hand at him.

“Oh, stop, it’s nothing.”

“It’s literally _everything_ ,” Pidge corrected. 

As they bantered, Keith glanced over at Lord McClain again, because his son was glued to his side, smiling and nodding at Shiro like the “good little boy” Keith would realistically never be. It took a moment for Keith to realize: Oh, right, Shiro had to introduce them to one another. It would have been different if it weren’t for all the formality of Lance’s father being around for business.

“Keith, come here for a moment please,” Shiro ordered, reaching a hand over to him. He guided Keith over with a hand on his shoulder. “I’d like you to meet my good friend, Dean McClain. He owns a plantation on the Eastern Side.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you. Takashi’s wrote about you so often as of late,” Lord McClain said, and all Keith could do was smile as he shook the man’s hand and automatically said, “It’s nice to meet you as well.”

The man then clapped his hands onto Lance’s shoulders, who gave him a winning smile and bright blue eyes that Keith knew automatically were entirely the reason why his parents caved to his every whim. Lance’s puppy eyes were probably the reason why the kid ever got his own rifle at the age of thirteen—which was exactly the age they were when they first met. 

“This is my son, Lance. And that over there is the Garrett’s boy, Hunk. Though, it seems like you’ve already been introduced to him.”

Keith agreed to it, and was then roped in to taking Lance along the lawn to follow after Pidge and Hunk. Those two imbeciles ditched them to visit the creek, so there was the long, inevitably awkward walk accompanied by a stranger’s son. Perfect.

“So…” the kid started, arms swaying, “How do you like your new home? You’ve been here for…?”

“Almost a year. And it’s nice. Shiro’s—I mean—my father is really nice.”

“You don’t have to call him ‘father’. Must be tough,” Lance commented. Keith didn’t reply. “What about Katie?”

“What about her?”

“Well, do you like her?”

“Katie is as annoying and bothersome as a little sister can be,” he said, raising his voice as they approached the river. Hunk and Pidge were already on the other side, and upon hearing her name called, scowled threateningly at him. 

“Yeah, well _Keith_ is a sack of _mud_ who shouldn’t be complaining,” she countered. He stuck his tongue out at her, and she did the same. Hunk whined for them to stop fighting.

“Hunk’s a bit of a peacemaker,” Lance murmured to Keith, leaning in to do so. He took a half-step away from the boy, out of habit, and swiftly covered it up by walking towards the river.

Shiro’s estate was on the edge of the city, but in the city nonetheless. The river that branched out in the middle of the busy streets was bordered by heavy, concrete bricks. Once in the country, the channels scattered out, unaccompanied by the borders. They were close enough to the city to have borders on their small river, and a good jump could bring Keith from one side to the other.

There was a small bridge, of course, but for the sake of adventure Keith took a running start and leapt over to Pidge and Hunk. Hunk caught him by the arm and steadied him.

“Careful—that looks like a nice jacket you’ve got there,” he warned as Keith brushed his arms off casually and shrugged.

“I have a bit of practice,” Keith said, thinking about how long he and Pidge spent down by the river. And also the times he spent jumping from roof to roof.

“The water isn’t exactly _clean_ anyway,” Pidge said, “I wouldn’t drink it if I were you.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” Lance smirked from the other side. 

“No, no it wasn’t,” Hunk squeaked, hands on his face. “And don’t jump, please.”

“What, you don’t think he can?” Pidge said, and Keith’s eyes went wide before he openly glared at Pidge. She had her hands on her hips, and discretely smirked at Keith. Just that one look convinced him that she was the filthy little liar Shiro accused her of. _Lance being on her ‘nice list’, as if_ , Keith seethed internally. She was going to get him in trouble for this.

Lance took a few steps back from the stone edge. Keith was shaking his head, and Hunk whined aloud. 

“Oh come on, trust me here big guy,” Lance said, hands out.

With that, he started at a full-out sprint. At the edge, his feet left the stone and lunged for the other side. Keith’s heart leapt to his throat as Pidge whooped and hollered, down to the very second Lance’s feet touched down directly on the edge, arms pinwheeling.

Both Keith and Hunk jumped for Lance’s hands. He was already steadying himself, but they secured him on land, away from the edge. Lance clapped a hand on Hunk’s back and said, “See? Told you I could do it.”

“Yeah, _barely_.”

 _Idiot_ , Keith thought to himself as he stepped away and passed Pidge. He flicked the back of her head and she cried out, hands slapping to her hair. He glanced across the river, past the garden and the lawn to the house. They could see Shiro’s massive office windows from down here, and he was eternally grateful Shiro wasn’t watching over them at that moment.

  


  


When the seasons changed and the McClain plantation was in full swing for the warmer months, Lance and Hunk spent a significant amount of time at the Shirogane residence, and Keith and Pidge returned the favor by visiting their houses. This was what Pidge’s life was like for years before Keith showed up, so he figured he better start getting used to it. The only times he ever saw the slums was when they traveled to and from the Garrett and McClain residences—it involved mounting the hills high above that poor valley. Pidge always looked away from it.

Allura was oddly quiet the months following her disappearance. Shiro reassured Keith that she was often like that—dropping off the face of the planet and reappearing where you least expected it. “She has to be like that, especially in her business. And with Zarkon’s men hunting her, it’s likely they caught onto her trail a bit so she vanished.”

Keith was quiet for a moment before murmuring, softly, “You don’t think…?”

“Oh, no, no of course not,” he reassured Keith, shaking his head quickly. “Allura’s awfully good at what she does. With her web of connections it’s unlikely Zarkon will have a legitimate reason to kill her without causing an uproar. The lawful depend on the lawless and the lawless depend on the lawful, that’s just how our world works. That’s how his system works.”

“Do you think… I could find her?” Keith asked hesitantly, and this brought Shiro’s attention up to him. “I mean, she owns three-fourths of the brothels in all sections of the city—”

“I know you’re on her good side, but that doesn’t mean a dozen brothels will let you in to investigate. She entrusted you with me to keep you safe, which means no one truly knows who you are. That includes her workers. Don’t go looking for her when she doesn’t want to be found. She’ll come back when she needs you.”

Keith groaned, head rolling on his shoulders. After a moment he turned back and said, “What about Coran?”

“You aren’t not to go anywhere near that man, do you understand me?” Shiro snapped, jabbing a sharp finger in Keith’s direction. Keith’s expression soured, and as he sulked in the middle of Shiro’s office, the man let his hand drop. “He’s dangerous, and the only way you’ll ever see him again is through Allura. He is entirely under her thumb, which is for the better.”

“Why don’t you like Coran?” he asked, stepping up to the desk and taking a seat in front of it. Shiro sighed, rolling his eyes away from Keith. “He doesn’t seem like a bad guy.”

“I’m not saying he is. His methods are questionable is all.”

“What sort of methods?” he demanded, inching to the edge of his chair. Shiro glared at him. “Oh, come on, you _never_ talk about _either_ of them. And you don’t like Allura any better than Coran.”

Exasperated, Shiro spoke slowly, “I never _said_ I didn’t like Allura. All I’m saying is that they are dangerous people who are good at what they do. But that doesn’t mean that what they do is good, do you understand?”

“But the same goes for everybody then,” Keith said. “Not everyone is good. The King isn’t good, Pidge isn’t good, _you_ aren’t good—so what makes you any better than Allura or Coran?”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Shiro hissed. “I have work to do.”

Keith groaned, slouching forward so his forehead could rest against the edge of Shiro’s desk. He lifted it, and dropped it down again, approximately five times before Shiro dropped his pen and said, “Keith, enough. How’s your reading been going?”

 _Terribly_ , he thought. But instead of saying that, he just got up and left Shiro’s office. He made sure to slam the door childishly behind him.

He went to hunt down Pidge to help him with his readings. It was usual for street rats to be uneducated, and one of Allura’s many strict orders involved teaching Keith how to read, teaching him history, languages, anything to improve his farce as a lord’s son. Pidge had done the same thing, but she’d been younger when Shiro took her in, and taught her automatically, without the pressure of Allura breathing down his neck. 

So Keith had to learn to read. Great.

Before Keith even found Pidge, he was attack from behind by two arms throwing themselves around his neck. “ _Keeith!_ ” the person shrieked, and he cried out in panic, slamming his elbow back into the attacker’s stomach, and tossing them over his shoulder. 

The attacker screamed, and it took less than a second for Keith to realize that—it was just Lance. He just slammed Lord McClain’s son onto the hallway tile. _Shit_.

“Oh—Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Keith stammered, listening to Lance wheeze and push himself up to his elbows.

A set of footsteps skidded out from the room behind him, where Lance emerged. “Shit, Keith,” Pidge hissed from behind. Keith looked to her, eyes wide and horrified.

“I-I didn’t mean to—” he said, and before he could stop it his eyes were watering. Lance was going to tell his father. His father was going to tell Shiro. Shiro was going to tell Allura. Allura would kill him or worse—kick him out into the streets again.

Pidge looked equally terrified for Keith, and neither of them noticed when Lance got back to his feet until the boy said, “You just—Did you just—I’ve never been _tossed_ before! By a _fourteen year old_ as well!”

Keith turned back to him, breath hitching when he realized that Lance was smiling like the idiot he was. “That was incredible! Where’d you learn to do that?”

He couldn’t even form words because it felt like someone had punched him in the throat. Realizing that Keith was utterly mortified, Lance laughed and swung an arm around his shoulders. “Hey, don’t worry about it! I’m just impressed—my instructor hasn’t even taught me that one yet. You should meet him—he’d love you! You know what, you should come to one of my lessons. I’m sure Iverson wouldn’t mind.”

“I-Iverson,” Keith repeated, letting Lance drag him into the room he and Pidge were in. Pidge stood in the hallway, frozen, looking between them, and the place where Lance was effectively dead a minute before.

“Yeah, Iverson. He’s my combat instructor, shooting, swordsmanship, mostly. Fencing, you know, the usual rich-kid stuff. I’m surprised Lord Shirogane hasn’t set you up with one yet. I’m pretty sure my father recommended Iverson to him but who really knows. I don’t eavesdrop—mostly,” Lance said, hand waving enthusiastically. “Oh, yes, and archery. I’m _really_ good at archery. I don’t mean to brag, but… I won the junior tournament when I was _nine_ , can you believe it? And then again when I was ten before moving up a class but… I’ll show you the trophies the next time you come to visit.”

“Those… do sound like rich-kid sports,” Keith said, unsure why he sounded so glum when his life was no longer on the line. Shiro wouldn’t kick him out, and Pidge was still recovering from that huge detail.

She lumbered into the room, standing in the doorway for a moment before staggering into the room, shaking her head. Lance sat Keith down at the plush couch in the reading room. He then took a seat beside him, across from where Pidge collapsed, staring at Keith as if he just dodged a literal bullet.

“We were just playing chess. I always _destroy_ Katie at this,” Lance was saying, and at this Keith looked at her in shock. Pidge always _creamed_ Keith at chess, and she was even a tough opponent for Shiro. She single-handedly destroyed the entire house staff by means of chess alone. Why would she purposefully suck with Lance around?

“Yeah, Keith knows I’m not the greatest,” Pidge said, crossing her legs and leaning forward over her knees. 

“She is complete trash at chess,” Keith said monotonously, still staring at her until Lance made a move on the board. He took one of her few remaining pawns, and laid it off to the side. The pieces were made entirely of glass, and the board itself was magnificent. Keith picked up one of the deceased pieces and examined it as Pidge thought long and hard.

“Watch out—your queen is in danger,” Lance warned.

“I know that, I’m working it out.”

“There’s only one way to go…”

“Yeah, straight into your grubby little hands. Whatever,” she said glumly, diving her queen straight into the hands of Lance’s rook. He nabbed the queen and went in for the kill. When the game was done, Pidge let out a distressed, “Darn, I was doing good at the start there.”

“Better luck next time. We’ll make a general out of you yet,” Lance said. “I heard that military strategists have to be excellent chessmen.”

“That’s probably a lie you heard then,” she said with a laugh.

“I’m serious! My mother said something along those lines,” he argued, pouting. They started to reset the board when Lance looked at Keith and said, “You want to play?”

Keith glanced over at Pidge, who didn’t seem all that opposed to it. Was he supposed to play dumb, too? Pidge wasn’t giving him any of those looks though—the looks she tended to give him when he wasn’t supposed to do something around Lance or Hunk. He wasn’t sure he’d be capable of holding back on Lance. He played dumb enough during their mock sword-battles anyway. 

“Sure, I’ll take a stab at it,” Keith said, standing and laying the piece in his hand down in the last remaining spot on the board. “Scoot over,” he told Pidge. 

Keith hunkered down across from Lance, who was smiling devilishly, shoulders hunched as he devoted his entire focus to the chessboard, and Keith. Attention always unnerved him, and Lance was definitely one of those kids who was sure to make you feel like a thousand bucks with how he flattered people. Keith was certain that was one of the reasons Pidge didn’t mind hanging out with him much.

Lance was good at making others feel welcome. He guessed that when Lance took over his father’s position, his estate would be the center of absolute hospitality. 

“White goes first,” he said, nodding to Keith. 

He narrowed his eyes at Lance and went two spaces ahead with his pawn. “You’re going down, McClain,” he snarled.

Lance laughed and jumped forward with his knight. “You are _so_ on.”

Keith kept his eyes to the board unless it was Lance’s turn. He liked to think he could predict Lance’s moves, and the entire game they were neck-in-neck—same number of pawns on the playing field each round. When Keith stole one of Lance’s pieces, Lance always came back to steal one of his. In the end the field was sparse, king against king with Pidge leaning forward in excitement, watching over each meticulous move Keith made, dancing around Lance.

“Shit,” Keith hissed.

“Give in, pretty boy.”

“As if. _Stop_ chasing me around,” he complained, slamming his king down. It didn’t help that their moves were limited to one block at a time. As soon as Keith stopped running around like a blind cat, Lance would end the game.

In the end, Keith relented and let Lance win. The boy jumped up, arms in the air. “I have prevailed!” he shouted, laughing loudly.

Keith fell back into his chair with a groan, throwing his arms up and clutching the wooden back behind the cushion. Pidge offered Lance a high-five, and Keith merely glared at him. “Oh, come on, it was a close game. Incredibly close, actually,” Lance said. 

After a moment of glowering at Lance’s puppy blue eyes, Keith sighed and leant forward. he slapped his hand into Lance’s and gave him a shake as he uttered, “Good game.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a warning, I'll be bringing in side characters that aren't from the show, but they won't have huge parts. I'll mostly be using them as tools for the whole... _plot_ , ya know? 
> 
> I'll post again tomorrow!


	3. Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith fights Lance, fails at making friends, and is commissioned by Allura to do things.

“You fight ignobly,” Iverson said gruffly, standing on the sidelines with his arms crossed. Keith slouched, and out of the corner of his eyes he could see Lance getting up off the ground, clutching his side where Keith slammed his knee. “That tends to happen when it’s between life and death, but we are not trying to survive here.”

Keith’s breath hitched, studying Iverson as the man stepped forward, walking around Keith as Lance rolled his shoulders back, sword held loosely at his side. Keith stepped to the side, keeping his eyes on Iverson as the man walked around him, watching him. “You said you never learned the basic principles of tournament fighting.”

After a hesitant moment, Keith said, “No, I haven’t.”

It was their first practice, after Lance suggested it to Iverson no more than a few days prior. Keith was just thankful Lance didn’t go directly to his father. Lord McClain would have told Shiro, and the chances of Shiro letting him fight were slim. That was all up to Allura.

“Sword fighting in tournament combat is between two swords, no punches, kicks, or… knees.” At this, Iverson seemed to sneer at him. Keith didn’t blame Lance for being a little bit terrified of the man: just his squinty eye and sideways mouth were enough to put Keith off. “And I don’t blame you for going with instincts. Until you habitually follow the rules, Lance will always seem intimidating. He has far more experience fighting than you do.”

Iverson hesitated, as if to suggest he didn’t truly believe that last statement. Keith openly glared at him, fist tightening on the pommel of his practice sword. He could see Lance glowing from beside him, having picked up on Iverson’s compliment. 

After a split second of hesitation, Iverson turned away and said, “Lance, how do you feel about shifting to hand-to-hand combat for a little while.”

A bit of panic spiked in Keith’s chest. Before Lance could agree, he jumped forward, “No, wait, can we try that last maneuver again? Or go over the basics again?” 

The second Iverson turned, slowly, back to Keith, he swallowed down the regret that was rising up. This was why Shiro never suggested involving Iverson with him, or any other combat trainer. They hadn’t even done anything Keith was familiar with, and yet his street techniques were showing through. 

“Lance says you belonged to a family overseas,” Iverson said, and Keith fell back on the blank look he pulled whenever Rollo confronted him like that. Only this time, it was more difficult having to look the man in the eye. “Did you learn anything from them? Before Lord Shirogane took you in?”

 _Think fast, think fast_. “I… I learned a few things. From my father. He was never taught tournament techniques,” he said, straightening up and trying to appear confident in his own lie. “They use different methods in combat, sir. I guess I just picked up on them.”

“You should have seen the way he flipped me,” Lance pitched in. “It was like I weighed nothing to him. It was so cool—when are you going to teach me how to do that?”

“Because it’s dangerous—you could have landed on your neck. And what would your father have done then—or if you broke your arm,” Iverson countered, shutting them both up instantly. “Be lucky I didn’t tell him.”

“It was an accident, sir,” Keith said, eyes dropping.

“Instinctual, some people might say,” he replied back, and Keith grimaced, eyes flickering anywhere but Iverson’s boots. After a moment of silence, he said, “My apologies, Lance, but I can’t train your friend.”

Keith didn’t even argue, but Lance was up in arms. He chased after Iverson as the man started to walk off. Keith rubbed a hand over his eyes as Lance tried to convince his teacher, but it was useless. As a last ditch effort, Lance insisted Iverson not tell his father about Keith’s attack. At least the man agreed to that.

He zoned out for a while, until suddenly Lance swung his arm around his neck and swayed forward. “Sorry about Iverson—he can be a real bummer sometimes. I’m sure I can turn him around though. I am _very_ convincing.”

“It’s fine,” Keith said, voice dull. “I’ll probably… ask Shiro about getting me lessons. He probably already has someone in mind, if what you say is true. I should have started training already, though.”

“No time like the present. You want me to back you up? Again, very convincing guy,” Lance said, swinging forward and jabbing a thumb to his chest. 

“No, that’s fine. I’ll figure it out,” he said. Lance deflated a bit, so Keith nudged him in the arm and said, “Wanna show me your archery set? Or your trophies.”

That certainly got his mood up.

Keith hung out around the McClain residence until Lance’s father suggested he get back home before dark. “We’d love to have you for dinner, but I’m sure your father would miss you,” he said to Keith, clapping his hand onto Keith’s shoulder. The man had to be twice his height, but then again, Keith hadn’t really had his growth spirt yet. 

“You’re right. Maybe next time,” he said. “Thank you for having me.”

“Of course, any time,” Lance’s father said with a winning smile. Lance followed Keith out the front door, and walked him to the car Shiro sent for him. 

Before he could jump in, Lance reeled him in for a hug. Keith tucked his chin against Lance’s boney shoulder as the kid said, “You seriously have to ask your father about getting lessons. I feel like you’d be unbeatable.” 

Keith laughed, pushing away and rolling his eyes. “Yeah, well, we’ll see. I think Hunk has a pretty good chance of flattening me.” 

“What about me?”

Keith didn’t respond, and just hopped into the car and shut the door. Lance knocked on the window and said, “What about me?! I could beat you, right?”

“Hunk’s closer to my level,” Keith said, tugging his lower eyelid down and sticking his tongue out at Lance as the driver started to pull away. Lance cried out, swearing he could destroy Keith, just like he did in that game of chess. At that, Keith put down the window and shouted, “You didn’t destroy me! It was a close game!”

“Whatever you say, _loser!_ ”

 _Oh, I am_ so _taking him down_ , Keith mused.

  


  


Keith returned home just as darkness was settling in. He hopped out of the vehicle and, at the driver’s orders, hurried inside where Shiro was waiting. In the summer months, night was always a bit chilly, and his covered arms were starting to get goosebumps by the time he shut himself behind the front door of the house, panting. 

He swayed forward, and leant down to unlace his boots. One of the maids stumbled across him in the foyer and offered to take his shoes and jacket. He let her, and asked whether or not dinner was ready. “Yes, and your father has a guest tonight, so dress nicely,” she told him.

“That won’t be necessary. I’m not exactly one to dress nicely _for_ ,” a voice sounded from the second floor. 

The second he heard her voice, Keith’s throat constricted. He couldn’t forget that commanding voice, what it prompted him to do, to say. The entire reason he was here was because of _her_. To say he had a childish crush on her was incredibly accurate, because it was usual for that to happen when a goddess saved him from the streets. And she was standing _right there_ , looking down a him and the maid.

She was exactly how he remembered her. She had the air of someone who would always be above him—untouchable, really. Her hair was the purest shade of white, which contrasted heavily against her dark, brown skin and iridescent blue eyes. She practically glowed, which was partially why Keith didn’t even notice that Shiro was stepping out from behind her, looking less than happy. He couldn’t be sure if it was because of Allura, or because he somehow already obtained knowledge of Keith’s lesson with Iverson.

He wondered if Allura already knew. Shiro used Allura’s many little birds as an excuse for Keith to always be on his best behavior. 

“If you could give us some privacy, miss,” Allura said to the maid, who bowed to her and hurried off with Keith’s boots and jacket. He stepped out of her way, eyes still on Allura as she stepped down to him. 

“Let me have a look at you, my bird,” she said, approaching him with a hand outstretched. He couldn’t even move, and let her hand skim across his cheek, and lift up his chin. Her skin was velvety, and he couldn’t help but notice how chilled they were. 

Shiro stepped down to the first floor, a few paces away from them. She glanced over at him and said, “You’ve done wonders with him over the past year. I think he’s in perfect shape now—but let me see, lift your shirt.” 

Startled, Keith looked over at Shiro before untucking his shirt from his belt. Allura laid her cool had flat over his stomach, and skimmed over his ribs with her thumb. “Full enough. Before you could see every rib. That was no good, you see. How could you be expected to gain any muscle when you have no fat on you? And I hear you’ve made friends with some the heirs of the Garrett and McClain house—that should be useful. What about the other houses?”

When Shiro didn’t respond, Keith swallowed hard. She already knew the answer to that question, which was only a matter of having his story match up with Shiro’s. “I… screwed up my chances with Prorok’s son, but his daughter seemed friendly even after the fight—”

“Aren’t all girls, though,” she laughed, nudging Shiro playfully. “She was probably just impressed. And the others?”

“Um… Sendak’s daughters seemed nice—I met them at the gala a few months back, when Shiro introduced me into society as his son. But then again, aren’t all girls like that.” Allura laughed, but Shiro seemed less amused. 

“Sendak’s daughters are sly little things. His oldest, what did you think of her?” she inquired.

Keith scratched the back of his head. It was difficult remembering what they looked like aside from their pitch black hair and heavy eyebrows. There was nothing wrong with them, but it made their expressions rather intimidating, and their pale complexion made them appear almost ghostly. They laughed with him—hopefully not _at_ him—and if he remembered correctly… 

“I think I danced with her. And it was after I passed basic dance etiquette and the simpler dances, so that wasn’t any problem. We mostly talked about this girl she said was a snake—I think that girl was a Thrace…”

“Beatrice Thrace,” Shiro added in. “The only reason she dislikes the Thrace girl is that Beatrice has been courting Prorok’s son for some time. Sylvester, the heir to the estate.”

“Yes, all this adolescent _drama_ is well and good, but truly you made _no_ other friends?” Allura asked, and at this Keith stared down at his feet.

Shiro swung in to save him. “He’s on relatively good terms with Thrace’s eldest son, Yvon. Keith taught him how to throw knives, or something to that effect. I told him he shouldn’t be participating in violent games with them—it’s what led to Sylvester to hate Keith.”

After a moment of hesitation, Allura pinched her fingers over her mouth and said, “What’d he do to Prorok’s son?”

At this, Shiro waited for Keith to confess his guiltiness. With a sigh, Keith scuffed his foot on the tile and said, “I may or may not have beat him to a pulp out front. Pidge egged him on, so technically he started the fight. Sylvester’s competitive—isn’t the brightest, but—”

“By ‘pulp’, what do you mean?” she inquired.

Keith, again, scratched his head. Shiro paused before saying, “Suffice to say… I am not on good terms with Prorok anymore. Sylvester left with an entirely swollen face. It’s a miracle he wasn’t unconscious. Keith apologized, but his position is _very_ clear.”

Stiff silence followed in which Keith doubted everything Shiro claimed. That Keith was an indispensable pawn, that Allura _needed_ him. He still felt like this was a sufficient reason to drop him. Allura expected nothing less than the best from her pawns, Keith included. 

“You have to understand, Allura—Keith has spent his entire life pushing people away. Making friends doesn’t come as second nature to him, especially when he expects them all to hurt him one way or another. If you recall, it took over a month for Keith to even warm up to _me,_ ” Shiro said, and rubbed his palm over his forehead. “And yet you expect him to _make ‘friends’_ with the sons and daughters of corrupted men.”

“I don’t expect _you_ to understand,” she said, exasperatedly, but her eyes didn’t leave Keith. She addressed Shiro as if he was intruding on a private conversation with Keith. “You are clouded by the fact that you have been the father figure of Keith for this past year.”

“And _you_ have not,” Shiro hissed back. Keith’s eyes went wide and he turned them instantly to his feet as Shiro stepped forward the jab a finger in Allura’s direction. “You may have been with him the weeks after you took him off the streets, but _I_ was the one to introduce him to an entire _world_ he isn’t familiar with. I have spent far more time with him, and this alone is enough foundation to suggest that _I_ know what is best for him. We have already pushed him far out of his comfort zone—anything more than that will—”

“Will what?” she snapped. “Kill him? I seriously doubt that. You’re always so overdramatic.”

“ _Overdramatic_?”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about!”

From across the room, someone cleared their throat quietly, almost hesitant to be mauled by the two beasts fighting in the foyer. Keith looked over to find Pidge in the doorway to the dining room, her hands gripping the frame. Both Allura and Shiro turned sharply to the intrusion, and instantly Pidge ducked behind the door. Sighing, Shiro said, “What is it?”

She reappeared, assessing the situation again. “Uh… Are going to eat soon? The food’s all ready.”

At the mention of food, Keith’s stomach rumbled, and he placed his hands over it in hopes of muffling the sound. He looked up at Allura, cheeks going pink with embarrassment. Her hostility faded quickly, unlike Shiro’s, and she laughed lightly. She took him by the shoulder, saying, “I could do for a well-cooked meal. Sit with me, my little bird.”

Keith let Allura lead him along, over to where Pidge disappeared. Shiro followed after them, a few paces back to avoid Allura’s tracks.

Overall, dinner was awkward. Pidge did most of the talking to avoid the discussion that would eventually lead directly to Keith. He was forever grateful he had a sister like Pidge around, because she was always so observant. It was like she could navigate around people by assessing their future actions—that certainly made chess easier for her.

By the end of it, Allura scooped Keith away to talk in private, specifically _away_ from his father. Keith found himself in that same room Pidge and Lance played chess in, and during smalltalk, she scooped up a blanket and bundled Keith up on the couch, and sat beside him with a foot casually resting on the coffee table. They faced the window, overlooking the garden and lawn, and beyond that, the buildings across the river.

One of her hands combed absently over his hair, silently, until at last she said, “Do you know why I picked you, Keith?”

“Because I disappeared.”

“Yes, because you disappeared,” she agreed. “But mostly because there is more to it than that. You have an incredible gift very few people have. I would say only a small fraction of the population has this gift. Which is why I want you to become very well acquainted with Coran, because did you know he knows an awful lot about this particular gift?” 

Keith shook his head, staring at her in awe. “What is it?”

Her fingers curled around a strand of his hair as she observed him, her eyes slightly out of focus. Eventually she pulled her hand back, and rested her chin against it, her elbow pressed to the back cushion of the couch. “It is a form of mimicry. Have you heard of it?”

“Maybe a little. Like, in stories that have magic in them—legends and such.”

“Precisely. Coran calls it mimicry, but it’s far more than that. It’s a sort of creation ability, that lets you take on the appearance of your surroundings. It works best against patterned or solid surfaces—hence the brick Rollo’s boys lost you against,” she said. “Mimics are a chameleon-like people, which makes it easy for you to get around unseen, once you control it. I would like very much for you to control it. Would you like to do that for me?”

He nodded quickly, and a brilliant smile pulled at her lips. “Perfect. There is just one catch to allowing Coran to teach you—you must promise to do as I ask, once you control it.”

“And what’s that?” he asked.

“I would like you to kill the King.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup my dudes! What are your thoughts about Allura? I altered her personality a bit--usually I stick with canon profiles but I feel like if Allura happened to be a madame, she'd be a bit... questionably evil? If that makes sense? And also, Shiro as the realistic fantasy father figure to a street rat, he'd be strict for sure. Totally. 
> 
> On the side of this, I'm making a webcomic! It's called [_Spaced Out_](https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/93669510-spaced-out) and chapters will start sometime later in January :D


	4. Fun Little Vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith goes to a brothel, learns some " _fun things_ ", and feels up Lance in the middle of the marketplace.

“I’ll be taking Keith into the city for a few weeks. I hope you don’t have anything planned with him,” Allura said, and no more than twenty minutes later both Keith and Allura were out the door and on their way out of the Shirogane estate. The second they collapsed into her car, she let out a relieved sigh. “Shiro is always so exhausting. I don't know how you stand him.”

“He seems like he just wants the best for everyone.”

“Or what seems like the least troublesome path, unless it has to do with his career then by all means, anything to get to the top,” she said, draping an arm over her eyes. “I should have apologized in advance for him. He can be a bit overbearing.”

“Not at all. I don’t mind him,” he said quickly. “I mean—Shiro was a perfect fit. And Pidge is great.”

“Not _too_ great I hope,” she said with a sharp laugh before pausing. She lifted her arm to glare at him. “Right?”

“Um… What do you mean?”

“Right, you're thirteen. No worries then.”

“But what do you mean?”

“Nothing at all.” As soon as she said it, it all started to click. But by then Keith felt overly embarrassed to start _that_ particular subject again. He reached up and scratched beneath his ear, scowling ahead as Allura tilted her head back and closed her eyes. It took Keith the entire ride to realize that he was staring at her. When he finally exited the vehicle, his entire face was red, and it didn’t get any better since Allura took them straight to a brothel.

He knew they weren’t there for the hell of it, but either way he still couldn’t pull his eyes up from the ground to look anyone in the face. It was the dead of night when they arrived, which wasn’t exactly “closed hours” for Allura’s establishment. Allura kept a secure arm around him as they walked through the front, acknowledging her hostesses on the way in.

She took him through an unoccupied hallway, where the windows were draped in reddish curtains that drenched the walls in a rosey glow. Her building was massive, and considering the location of it, incredibly well-kept. The walls were pristinely white, decorated with tapestries and paintings she collected.

In the far back of the building were the living quarters for the workers—if they had nowhere else to go. They passed through quickly, and Allura even introduced him to a few of her workers that lingered in the back room. It was incredibly easy to feel welcome there, but Keith wasn’t blind—brothels were known for their hospitality, and Allura’s were no exception.

They fawned over him, but stayed clear of questions concerning what he was doing there, or what Allura was doing with a thirteen-year-old boy. Oddly enough, they treated him well, which was entirely different to the sort of respect he and other street rats got when they crossed paths with brothels and whorehouses. Hospitality was limited to customers with money, it seemed, and adults as well. They weren’t fond of street rats.

But Keith wasn’t a street rat anymore.

“We have to get going. But you can chat with him more tomorrow,” Allura told them, and after bidding them farewell, she tugged Keith along. He turned back in time to wave to them, and the men and women waved enthusiastically back. 

“They’re nice,” he commented.

“Yes, they certainly are. That’s why I hire them,” she said, hesitating before a partially-open door. She stared at it for a moment, and Keith did as well. Her doors were more like… parts of the wall. If it hadn’t been ajar, Keith never would have known it _was_ a door at all. 

She released Keith and nudged the door open, laying her hand flat on the surface as she peered in and flicked on the light. The bulb above glowed sparingly for a moment before illuminating the entire room with a slight _buzz_. She gave a start, her hand flying to her chest. “I _told you_ to wait for me _outside_. What part of _stop scaring me_ don’t you understand?” she cried out, throwing the door open and tugging Keith in along with her.

Keith staggered forward, looking to the man leaning casually against her desk, cheeky grin and all. It was exactly what he remembered the man by. “Coran!” Keith shouted, smiling ear-to-ear.

“Keith, my boy, get over here!” he yelled, throwing his arms up. Without wasting a second, Keith ran to him, and threw his entire weight against Coran’s lean body. The man laughed, taking the hit with ease as he dropped his arms over Keith’s shoulders. “Heard Iverson’s causing you trouble,” he commented, and instantly Keith leapt back, tripping into one of the empty armchairs. 

“Wha—?” he said, looking immediately to Allura, who narrowed her eyes at Coran.

“He has his ways, don’t worry about it my bird,” she said, patting a hand on his head reassuringly. “Though I would like to hear what Iverson has to do with this. What did you see?”

“It was just today, actually,” Coran said, crossing his arms comfortably in front of him. He tipped his nose up, the light catching on his fiery ginger beard. “Lance wants Keith to learn tournament sports. Some sort of… _bonding exercise_ kids do these days.”

She studied him for a moment before saying, “And Iverson was involved?”

“Yes, as I said, learning tournament sports. Iverson teaches children of status how to fight from a young age. As you know, he knows a thing or two about street fighting, which is all Keith has done. The other day Lance suggested it, which is when I suggested you bring him here, and so on and so forth.”

“You—” Keith started, eyes wide, but Allura held up a finger to silence him. Her eyes were on Coran.

“Does he suspect anything?”

“Perhaps. But with the lie Keith told I’m sure it would be useful to actually _teach_ him how Bulmerans fight. Shiro’s taught him about their history, culture, and all that business, but nothing about military and swordsmanship techniques,” he insisted, “Next time Iverson teaches a dual lesson, Keith can slip in something Iverson _knows_ is distinctly Bulmeran, and case closed.”

“What makes you so sure Iverson wants to teach me again?” Keith interjected, staring at Coran. “If you were there, you would have seen the look on his face. Lance couldn’t even convince him.”

“But he’s interested, trust me. A man like Iverson doesn’t turn down a chance to hit Shiro where it counts. I mean, look at what happened to—” he started, but was silenced by Allura’s menacing glare. 

“We don’t talk about it, especially with Keith. I’m sure Pidge doesn’t even know,” she hissed, rubbing a hand over her eyes. “It’s no wonder Shiro doesn’t want Iverson anywhere near his estate.”

“Why, what happened?” Keith demanded.

Coran looked to Allura then, who sighed and said, “If Shiro won’t even talk about it with Pidge, then he isn’t likely to tell you. It’s best you don’t know, until he’s ready to talk.”

“I don’t blame him,” Coran said softly, cheeky grin gone. “I apologize for bringing it up. I overstepped my bounds there, Madame.”

She remained quiet, lowering herself onto the armrest of Keith’s neighboring chair. For a while there, she simply stared at an open spot on the wall before breathing in and turning back to Keith. “Are you tired, my bird? Would you like something to drink, perhaps?”

“No, no, I’m fine. Thank you though,” he said, tucking his hands between his knees. After glancing scarcely at Coran, he said, “I would… like to know more about what I’m doing here, though.”

“Well, that’s easy enough,” Coran said, slapping his hands onto his legs. “I’ll be showing you around the city. And if we’re lucky, you might even get to test out some tricks on a real live human being. It’ll be great!”

“Sounds like… murder,” Keith said, unsure as he looked between Allura and Coran. Their expressions hadn’t changed, because that was exactly what it was. “I-I don’t know—”

“Well, obviously you aren’t ready for it now. That’ll take some time, after, you know… _last time_ ,” Coran said, discretely but clearly loud enough for them both to hear behind his hand. Then he perked up again, just like that. “Either way if we don’t get to the fun stuff—as you call ‘ _murder’_ —then at least it was a job well tried and we’ll give it a shot next time. Hm?”

“Your blatant insincerity is a bit off-putting for a boy his age,” Allura said, nodding to Keith. “As much as I appreciate your… unbiased opinion on the matter, a bit more innocence is required for Keith.”

That just seemed like an insult, and Keith wasn’t sure why. He scowled at them both, as they spoke in codes written in quick-changing expressions, wriggling eyebrows, and nods in Keith’s direction. Eventually, Allura cleared her throat and Coran straightened the front of his jacket. “Fine then, we’ll take it lightly. Like a dotted-fostamander during gathering season.”

“Perfect. Thank you,” she said. 

_I can see why Shiro’s opposed to Coran’s involvement_ , Keith mused, studying the man as he disappointedly tugged at his earlobe, lips at a pout. 

  


  


Keith slept on the fourth floor, and used the service stairs in the far back of the building to get there. One of Allura’s workers assisted him in getting his bed set up, which was unused for some time and left beneath the narrow, peaked ceiling of the upper floor. Storage was evidently in the basement, which left the fourth floor empty for guest use. There was a dresser, a vanity, and a bathroom to wash up in.

It wasn’t by any means as great as his setup at Shiro’s estate. The bathroom wasn’t entirely up to par, but Keith constantly reminded himself that it could be worse. It could always be worse. And besides, his childish crush on Allura did wonders for his optimism.

He wondered how many other people had a crush on Allura. Pidge didn’t seem to like her all that much, so she didn’t count—besides, Keith was sure she was bias because of Shiro’s influence. Coran seemed too occupied by… _other things_ to be interested in Allura. And he was always an affectionate guy, so he was out of the ruling. 

And in the midst of brushing his teeth, he wondered, _Did Allura used to_ work _at a brothel?_

_How else would she know the business so well?_

The list just increased by a whole lot.

Keith went to bed feeling dejected about his odds of wooing Allura. He was here to work for her, not plan their goddman wedding. So he fell asleep and dreamed a little, mostly about Pidge, Lance, and Hunk because that was all he ever thought about otherwise. He thought about them a helluva lot more now that he was living with Allura for several weeks. He missed the living daylights out of Pidge. The very second day he was homesick at once, and wondered if it’d be too much of a bother to visit her. Probably.

On the fifth day he wondered whether or not Lance and Hunk came to visit and asked where he was. He didn’t even leave them a letter to come back to. Devastated with himself, Keith came back from training and moped in his room until Allura’s worker, Dalia, came up to fetch him for mealtime.

Mealtimes were spent as one big family spread out between the living quarters, the kitchen, and the hallways in between. Keith always sat with Dalia and a few of the other girls in the hallway, and they always told him all about their days, if they had families of their own or parents, siblings. They often convinced him to forget about his own home for a while, at least until he was alone and missing them again.

And he didn’t know how to cope with it.

Until now, he never knew what it felt like to have other people to care about. He never had a reason to worry about anyone other than himself, and it terrified him to death. He knew his friendships with Hunk and Lance were all for Allura’s sake, and for the plans ahead, but he _genuinely cared_ about them. But there was always a part of him wondering if it was mutual.

What if he came back, and realized that Hunk and Lance never even asked about him? What if he came back and Pidge was annoyed that she wasn’t an only child anymore? What if he came back and Shiro realized what a burden he was? 

He convinced himself that if that did happen, he would just ask Allura if he could live on the fourth floor permanently. He didn’t mind the company, and the floors were relatively soundproof. He could live here, if it came down to that.

And he could live with the training. It was actually… pretty fun.

It started with Coran taking him around the city. He showed Keith around, bought him lunch, until they arrived at one of the shopping centers in the middle of the city. There were owls around, and Coran had to hold onto his hand to keep from getting to jittery around them. Just to avoid trouble, Keith made sure he _never_ saw the owls. Out of sight, out of mind. 

“You’ll have to get used to walking through here,” he warned Keith. “This is where we’ll be meeting, after you head back to Shiro’s place.”

“Why? Isn’t it a bit… public?” he asked, scowling at the people swarming around them. There were food stands, clothing shops, and entertainment on the streets. 

“Yes, but it’s not _here_ where we’re meeting. I’ll show you,” Coran insisted, and proceeded to tug Keith between two buildings—a bakery and a postage center. Keith glanced back at their facades before centering his eyes on Coran. They passed the side doors of the businesses, before coming to an inconspicuous wooden door painted maroon, to blend in with the bricks.

He produced a key, showed it specifically to Keith, before unlocking the door. “That was the easy part. Now watch closely,” he warned, and produced a significantly _larger_ ring of keys. “This is the safety door, open it up now.”

Keith did as he was asked, and stepped in to a small room. It was the sort of room some normal houses had where shoes were left behind, and slippers were put on. The door into the actually house, however, was… a bit more complicated.

“Take the ring. From the red one, it goes two, five, six—and then one and three,” Coran said. 

Keith repeated it back to him and started to fiddle through the keys as he said, “Why so many locks?”

“Because the more locks, the more value there is inside. And also, I’ve been collecting swords and firearms since I was a kid so all that’s down there too. Kind of a dangerous thing to leave unlocked, wouldn’t you say? I inherited most of them from my great-great-grandfather, you see, and—”

At that time, Keith had no idea what Coran’s off-switch was, so he let the man ramble on for nearly thirty minutes.

Coran was right, though. For practice, Keith would meet him at the safe house with his own ring of keys, and became swift at opening the locks. They would have competitions to see who could open the safe house door the fastest—it was always Coran, but Keith _swore_ he was getting faster each time.

Mimicry seemed to be Keith’s strongest skill, though according to Allura, mimicry was more of a creation ability than just plain imitation. When he asked Coran, the man said, “Oh, yes, it is creation. Instead of taking on the appearance _of_ the surface, you create a filter that convinces _other_ people that you aren’t there. But if they’re really looking for the exact effect of a mimic, then it’s possible the filter can be seen through. Such as, when we practice together, I can almost always see you, even when the skill is working perfectly fine. It just happens to be the way you’re looking at the filter.”

“So the only reason Rollo’s thugs couldn’t see me was because they weren’t expecting me to create a… distortion filter?” he said, and Coran piped up with, “Precisely!”

“Well that doesn’t seem like an incredibly gifted… _gift_ ,” Keith said, narrowing his eyes at the man.

“Not the way you’re looking at it,” he countered, busying himself with a set of daggers he placed on the central table. “The way I’m looking at it, is mimicking places that are already difficult to see. That already distort the _light_ we take in. Think about… obscure places in everyday life.”

Keith thought about that riddle for an entire day because Coran refused to tell him. He burst into the safe house the following day, shouting, “Shadows! You want me to blend in with the shadows!”

“Perfect! Now we can continue with the training,” he exclaimed, and proceeded to yank Keith towards him and slap a packet of fabric against his chest. Keith caught it as Coran explained, “You’ll need different clothes for this. This is what you’ll wear on the job, got it?”

Keith pulled apart the fabric and let it fall loose in his hands. It didn’t seem that out of the ordinary—just dark, but not entirely black either. 

“Is it… supposed to be this thin?” he asked after changing into the clothes. It felt like he wasn’t wearing anything at all until the fabric swished against his legs and torso. Coran stepped forward with a sash of sorts—made of leather, and thick enough to essentially armor his lower abdomen. It was peppered with small, hardly noticeable pouches. 

“Yes, it’s lightweight so once we get farther in your training, speed and agility will come easy to you,” he replied. He reached behind onto the table, where several weapons were laid out on the surface. A dagger twirled in his fingers, and landed with the handle open to Keith. “I want you to put these where you see fit. There is also a sheath that lies horizontally against your lower back.”

Keith took the dagger, and with his dominant hand, practiced the motion of removing it from the multiple sheaths. He slipped it into a pocket on his left hip.

He took every single weapon Coran laid out for him—they were all meant to fit somewhere, and in the end his torso weighed as if he was constantly carrying an infant on his hip. “Now you see my point in lighter clothing,” Coran commented, amused.

“Yeah, but for what it lacks in weight, the metal certain makes up for it. What if I were to fall into a river? You do realize there is absolutely _no way_ I’ll be getting out of the water.”

Coran barked a laugh, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine by then. Trust me.”

Keith seriously doubted that there was any way to decrease the weight of metal knives, pistols, revolvers, and other _fun things_ , as Coran would call them. That entire day was spent pulling one weapon out after another until the motion was fluid—not a second wasted. A second wasted could be death to _him_ , rather than death to his opponent. 

“If the thought of killing a man concerns you so much,” Coran said slowly, perched on the table a few paces away from Keith, “then think of it this way: every person I order you to kill saves another person’s life. We are minimizing the overall death in this kingdom by taking out the people who kill ruthlessly, or without care. It is for the survival of the people. You are trying to survive the longest by taking out those who _will_ kill you, just like Rollo.”

At this, Keith hesitated, revolver raised and pointed in the direction of one of Coran’s many combat targets. He squinted an eye, trying to picture the mannequin as Rollo, but it was hard to do that, considering the last image of the kid wasn’t exactly human at all.

  


  


When Allura took Keith off the streets, they went to a discrete place, out of anyone’s eyes except those she saw fit. He could hear all their voices echoing against concrete walls, tunneling away from him and fading into the moist, damp caves he _did_ recognize. They were somewhere in the sewers, beneath the city. But clearly this area was scrubbed spotless of the filth of the city. 

He lied on a soft surface as Allura stepped back to say, “I told you to call Shay. Where the hell is she?”

“There was a bit of trouble with her brother,” a voice spoke up—it was rough, low, and not unlike an elderly woman after years of smoking. “She’ll be here soon, I imagine.”

“To be fair, it was a pretty rash call,” another said, young voice nondescript.

“And to be fair, I hadn’t expected him to be in this state,” Allura hissed back, pacing away from Keith and then returning when he made an attempt to sit up. “No, no, stay still. I’ll—see what I can do,” she insisted.

A set of footsteps approached, and the nondescript figure lowered themselves to his level. They laid a hand on his stomach, and he winced at it. “He won’t heal clean like this.”

“I know. Lay him flat. We’ll tape his torso in the meantime. I’ve seen broken ribs before—it must be so painful to breathe,” she said, _tsk_ ing as she went to fetch something. There was the sound of rummaging through a bin of sorts before Allura returned. With her friend’s help, they wrapped Keith’s torso tightly, and while it didn’t banish the pain completely, breathing was tolerable now. 

“Most of these will need stitches,” Allura said, her finger laying over the tally marks on Keith’s arms. He grimaced, tugging his arm away until she gently held him still by the wrist.

“No—needles—” he gasped, teeth clenched.

“We could give him poppy tea,” her friend suggested.

Just then, a door slammed shut, causing Keith to flinch as it reverberated across the walls. Allura shushed him before bolting up and exclaiming, “Thank God you’re finally here.”

“I know, I’m sorry Madame,” the girl said, and her sweet lilting voice calmed Keith slightly. He leant his head back, and to the side to try and see them. He couldn’t see anything past the swelling of his eyes. “Is this the boy? The mimic you told me about?”

“Yes, but he won’t be for long if you don’t fix him up. He has two broken ribs and could be concussed—I couldn’t tell with the swelling around his eyes,” Allura explained, her nervousness hitching as the girl—Shay—approached Keith and knelt beside him.

“I’m going to have a look at your face now, all right?” she said, gently, and he nodded. A moment later her cool fingers softly moved his face from side to side. Ever so carefully, she laid a hand over one of his swollen eyes—her skin was so cool compared to his inflamed flesh. “We’ll need ice—I’m going to stitch the cut on his lip. It shouldn’t be bleeding by now.”

“He doesn’t like needles, miss,” Allura’s friend warned.

“Then I agree—poppy tea. It’s in my bag, but just one. Too much and we might have other problems aside from pain,” Shay instructed. At this, Allura demanded to know what the effects were. “Poppy tea is highly addictive. Too much and he could suffer from withdrawals,” she explained. “It wouldn’t be a grand combination, trust me.”

They made the tea and once it cooled, Shay helped sooth Keith into drinking it. It didn’t have the greatest flavor, so he wasn’t sure why anyone would even bother getting addicted to it in the first place. But then, he felt entirely calm, and couldn’t find a fuck to give when Shay started threading the needle through his skin.

Keith stayed with Allura until his ribs healed nearly four weeks later. By then he had spent a lot of time in Coran’s company, talking about anything and everything. His favorite topic involved weaponry, and now Keith knew why.

Unlike his time at the Shirogane estate, Allura visited him daily. She brought him gifts that ranged from nice clothes—that he would later bring with him to the estate—to chocolate sweets, and her final gift was a dagger.

She pulled it from the sheath, and watched Keith’s face light up at the sight of it. “You like it?” she asked, amused.

He nodded quickly, and she laughed. He took it from her hands and clutched the sheath between both hands. “I’d like you to use it,” she told him. 

“Why?”

His question prompted her to pause for a moment, leaning closer as she curled a finger through his hair. “I would like very much for you to work for me, my bird, and to live with a good family, and to have everything you ever wanted. But paradise such as this cannot be obtained without some sort of price, you see. I need you to do me a favor, before I can provide this for you. Or would you rather return to the streets?” she asked, and instantly he shook his head, horrified by the idea of it. He got a taste of what it was like to have everything—food, shelter, clothes—and now… going back would be the most dreadful thing he could think of.

“That’s good to hear, my bird,” she said with a smile. “So when I ask you if you will kill the man who did this to you, what will you say?”

He stared at her, speechless, his knuckles turning white. He tugged the knife close to his chest, hardly realizing that his mind was already formulating a plan. “I will kill Rollo for you,” he said.

  


  


Keith exited the back door of the brothel nearly five weeks after he arrived there. The second he did, he walked along the wall, close enough to brush against the stone surface coated in the alleyway shadows. He recognized the faint, almost minuscule sensation of the filter that dripped down his hair, his clothes, and down to his boots. It wasn’t a matter of staying still anymore in order for the mimicry to work—he could walk around the shadows without the filter breaking. It used to show bits and pieces of his uniform, but having a cloak helped minimize that distraction. 

The second he let the facade drop, he tugged his cloak close. It was a deep shade of red, and unlike most cloaks Shiro provided him with, it had a strange feature of a scattered hem. It rippled around his feet, and seemed to dance on the breeze. Coran said it was a common feature on a mimic’s disguise.

He walked down the market street, passing stands and shops along the brick road. It was starting to get chilly again, with the summer months coming to a close, so it wasn’t uncommon for people to wear cloaks nowadays. 

There were so many people, he didn’t realize he was being followed until a shrill, “Keith! That’s Keith!” was voiced from behind. 

He turned sharply, eyes wide as he immediately picked out Hunk from the crowd. The kid was beaming wildly, not wasting a second to lunge for Keith and sweep him up into a massive hug. He squirmed a little, wondering just how easy it was for Hunk to feel his weapons through the thick fabric of their cloaks.

It took a second for him to realize that it was Lance who shouted, and was waiting for his turn to hug Keith.

“I haven’t seen you in ages! You left so soon!” he cried out, throwing his arms around Keith’s neck. He shifted so his hips were as far away from Lance’s as possible—no need to be accused of something when all it was were the daggers in his waistband. 

“Yeah, you could’ve left a note! We came by, like, two days after you left and poof, you were gone,” Hunk complained. “And you’re back now? How was it?”

Keith staggered away from them, still recovering from the horror of being caught. After a second he stammered, “H-How was… what?”

“Bulmera! Pidge said you went there for a few weeks! Talk about late notice, huh?” Lance said, hands on his hips. 

_Bulmera_ , Keith repeated, _I haven’t been_ …? 

“Oh, right,” he said quickly, thinking fast, “It was great! Yeah, I—uh—I stayed with some of my old friends. For a few weeks.”

Lance jumped forward with questions upon questions upon questions. Keith figured it was exciting, considering very few people in this city happened to travel, especially that kind of distance. To them, Keith was the most worldly person they knew, when in fact he was hardly that. He stumbled around answers, until finally realizing that he didn’t _need_ to tell them every little detail. “I’m just kind of tired. I… I got Katie something from Bulmera, but I feel like I should get her a little more than that. I couldn’t exactly pack _everything_ with me…”

“We could help you find something for her!” Lance said, grabbing hold of Keith’s hand, prepared to drag him along. 

“Um… I think I can handle it, thanks. I should… get going,” he stammered, nodding away, down the street. Lance deflated as Hunk attempted to reel him back. 

“Yeah, you’re probably busy. We’ll leave you to it—see you later?” Hunk said, smiling guiltily at Keith.

“Yeah, I’ll see you guys later,” he said. It took all his effort to smile back, because really he should be the one feeling guilty. He hated seeing Lance sulk—it just made him want to punch the person who made Lance feel like that. Unfortunately, he couldn’t really punch himself effectively.

The second Keith escaped them, he ran to the alleyway and slammed his back against the wall. It always took a little longer for the filter to work successfully if he was in a panic, but thankfully he dissolved hardly a second before Lance peered into the alleyway with a harrumph. 

“Aw, we missed him. I bet you he’ll get something Katie already has. Like that neat apparatus thing Shiro gave her a few years back. You know the one?” Lance said, leaning against the alley entrance no more than a few inches away from Keith’s hand. His heart was beating so damn fast it hurt his chest.

“No, I doubt that. He doesn’t need our help,” Hunk insisted. “Can we head back? I know you’re, like, obsessed with Keith but stalking him isn’t exactly an orthodox way to—”

Lance sputtered instantly, and shoved Hunk square in the chest. “I’m not—I am _not_ obsessed. _Psh_ , where’d you get that idea? How many Bulmerans have _you_ met?” 

“Literally one, but—he’s—he’s just like us.”

They started to walk away as Lance exclaimed, exasperated, “I _know_ that!” 

Their voices faded and at last Keith released the breath he was holding onto so desperately. He clutched at his chest and double-checked to make sure they weren’t on his trail anymore. Once sufficiently alone, he made his way down the alley to the maroon-painted door, and unlocked the safe room.

Keith pocketed the keys in the tight pouch Coran fitted to his waistband. Inside, he swept off his cloak and released a relieved sigh. That relief didn’t last long. 

“You look rather frazzled,” Coran commented, startling Keith entirely. “Tell me about it.”

“Is that a rhetorical comment or should I actually tell you?” Keith said. Either way he would _have_ to tell Coran. “I ran into Lance and Hunk on the way here. They think I’m back from… Bulmera?”

“Well that’s a damn shame,” he mused aloud, stroking his mustache thoughtfully. After a moment he clapped his hands together, “Oh well, I suppose we couldn’t keep you here forever. Your life with Shiro is just as important as it is here, which means we’ll move you back home and you will visit me once a week in this same location. It probably wasn’t too smart putting your book work on hold for so long anyway.”

“Wait—what? You want me to move back?” Keith said, floored by the abrupt decision. He wasn’t sure _when_ , exactly, Allura planned on bringing him back home. In fact, he was already so comfortable living on the fourth floor of her brothel.

“Yes, of course, and with the fall social events coming up, it’d be smart to focus more on your social etiquette, dancing, dining… and we can’t forget to have a tailor come to clean up… all this,” Coran made a broad gesture towards Keith, who looked down at his uniform with a scowl. Coran literally _gave_ this to him—shouldn’t he be more appreciative of what it looked like on Keith? But then again, it wasn’t exactly _party wear_.

Last fall, Keith hadn’t attended any of the social events that came with the cool weather. He wasn’t exactly ‘up to par’ yet, and was therefore not introduced to society yet. Pidge made a fuss about the balls and such, and not in a good way. She loathed to be stuffed into a dress and forced to look pretty. It was actually one of his first impressions of her, clawing at the arms of the maid trying to get her hair in proper order.

So Coran cancelled training for the day, and in a matter of an hour they had returned to the brothel, packed up his things, and Allura sent him off with a purposefully bored look on her face. He suspected she acted indifferent for the sake of her own attachment tendencies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao how'd my chapter summary do. Were you thoroughly hesitant about proceeding.


	5. Warm Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith has a father-son bonding moment, has a panic session with Pidge, and throws a knife at Lance.

Keith staggered out of the car and looked at the estate as if seeing it for the first time. He was always a little intimidated by the size, but now he felt a roiling mixture of relief and terror. His anxiety about returning home still hadn’t vanished, even when he stepped up to the front door and knocked. 

He set his suitcases down and waited, glancing back at Allura’s car as it drove off. The estate gates closed behind it, and just as it did, he heard the locks on the front door undo. A moment later, one of the maids caught sight of him, and to his great relief, she smiled.

“Welcome home, Keith,” she said, pushing open the door and taking one of his bags. “How was your stay with Madame Allura?”

“It was fine, thanks,” he said, quickly scanning the foyer. He half-hoped to escape to his room before anyone noticed, but alas, he wasn’t that lucky.

“Who is it at the door?” a voice demanded from the second floor. The figure came into view from around the railing, and hesitated upon seeing Keith. It was Shiro, and Keith couldn’t entirely be sure the man was happy to see him. 

“I’ll take your things to your room, sir,” the maid said to Keith, snatching up his other bag. 

He stumbled over the words to thank her, but she was already gone, disappearing up the stairs and passing Shiro in the process. The man lowered himself down several steps before hurrying the rest of the way. 

“I’m sorry I never came to visit, I wasn’t even that far—” Keith started, frantically trying to assess Shiro’s expression before the man buried it all in Keith’s hair, and swept him into a warm hug. Keith stiffened against him, his hands frozen against Shiro’s chest.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, and Keith relaxed. “It’s not your fault. I’m just—I’m very glad you’re back.”

Keith held onto the front of Shiro’s shirt and stayed there until he spoke up again. “Pidge has been more of a nuisance ever since you left anyway. I can’t seem to keep her entertained—sometimes I think she’s a bit more of a hassle than we let on. I guess I just never noticed until you left.”

They both laughed a little, and it quickly brought a lump to Keith’s throat. He missed Shiro so much, and the best he could do was hug him and not let go. But of course, even hugs have to end.

“Are you hungry? It’s not quite lunchtime but I could have the kitchen whip something up for you,” Shiro said quickly, pulling away and rubbing his hand in Keith’s mess of black hair.

He laughed, squinting at Shiro as he said, “Maybe a little. I missed breakfast at the brothel.”

At the mention of it, Shiro paused, his hand still locked in Keith’s hair. “You—wait, Allura took you to one of her _brothels_? You were—I need to have a word with her—”

Keith laughed, pushing Shiro’s hand off of him. “It was _fine_ , I promise. Her workers were very nice, and Dalia helped me out a lot when I wasn’t training. You want me to show you my uniform Coran gave me? I brought all my weapons back too—”

“No, no, that’s fine. Maybe later,” he said quickly, and before Keith could deflate too much, he added, “Let’s get you food, hm? And I’ll bring Pidge down to eat as well.”

Keith went to the dining room as Shiro went in search of the kitchen staff. Not long after, he heard the faint sound of footsteps storming down the stairs, and expected Pidge to burst in. A second before she entered, though, she paused—out of view. Keith looked to the entrance, waiting for her, and she miraculously came in looking like nothing changed. 

“Hey Keith,” she said casually, walking down the length of the table to him.

“Hey,” he said back, keeping his eyes on her until she disappeared behind him. Before she could reappear, he was startled when she lunged at his back, her arms around his neck and face pressed up against his. It was just for a split second before she recovered and took a seat across from him, cheeks pink. “I missed you,” he said at last.

She scoffed, hiding the smile on her lips. “Yeah, well, I definitely didn’t,” she said. She glanced up knowingly, reassuring him that she was just kidding.

Keith, Pidge, and Shiro ate together as they caught Keith up on the usual news. He couldn’t seem to stop smiling, and didn’t bother suppressing it. Every time Pidge bickered with Shiro, he felt at home. This was what it felt like to have a family, he guessed.

  


  


That night Keith practiced jumping off the roof.

He’d done it before, but usually with the assistance of alley walls, or ledges along the way. At Shiro’s estate, his bedroom window opened down to a short slope of the rooftop, and then a two-story fall. He navigated the way down by clutching onto the edge and swinging onto the balcony next-door. From there he was able to drop to a roll, and land successfully in the grass. Getting back up would be a bit trickier. 

Coran insisted that mimicry was more than that—like Allura said, it had to do with creation. He could create solid objects if he wanted, but none of them would last long. They were fleeting, which meant—couldn’t he create stepping stones to get him back up?

They had to be forged against a surface, so he spent hours that night sitting in the garden against the wall, pressing his hand to the surface and trying to pull invisible blocks. But it wasn’t like he really trusted his own creations, which made using them rather difficult. They had that filter over them, and from certain angles Keith could see them before they disappeared under his shock.

He pulled out two—one lower than the other—and stepped onto the first. It was big enough for one foot, so he created steps leading up the wall. He was quick with his work, unsure how long they would stick around. Eventually he reached the balcony again and clung to the railing for the life of him. The blocks disappeared underneath him, and he heaved himself up. From there he jumped, grabbed onto the roof ledge, and rolled on top. 

He laid there panting for a while, feeling the cool fall air wisp over the rooftop. He could faintly hear the sounds of the city in the distance, of people talking across the river—if he really tried to hear them, anyway. The sound of the wind passing over the garden. He loved it all. He wanted to stay there forever.

Eventually, though, he went back inside and shut his window. He crawled into bed and convinced his brain that he was tired. He never really dreamed much, but that night it seemed that one thing that constantly remained in his head was his brief run-in with Lance and Hunk.

What did Hunk mean, when he accused Lance of being “obsessed”? 

Keith never _really_ thought about Lance much, aside from the usual. Lance always seemed more put together than Keith, but perhaps ignorance had something to do with that. He’d had short conversations with Lance about the slums—before Pidge negated those arguments, of course. The kid had no idea what it was like out there, and Pidge knew that, and she ignored it. 

_How can she just_ ignore _such a huge part of her life?_ Keith questioned, twisting onto his side as he glared across the room. _Well, I mean, I_ did _spend thirteen years in the slums. She was only there for five years_. 

Five years didn’t seem like enough time to be as cynical as Keith about it, so he gave her props for that. She and Lance could live in self-imposed ignorance until the day they died for all he cared. Those five years _had_ given Pidge enough time to know the basics of survival: steal, cheat, and lie. She was grand at all three of those.

Lance was similar in the opposite effect. He could steal, cheat, and lie without doing any of those. In other words, he was the perfect noblemen’s son. “A very convincing kid”, so to speak. Years of schooling, and trainers like Iverson, taught Lance to play by the rules.

That night Keith decided he wasn’t infuriated with Lance for being who he was. He was just annoyed with himself for being selfishly envious of the kid. Allura wanted Keith to be the perfect blend of Pidge, Lance, and Coran. So he admired all three of them.

  


  


“Whoa,” Pidge whistled, hands on her hips as the both of them stared down at his uniform spread out on the bed the next day. “What kind of assassin bullshit is this?” she laughed, picking up his waistband and instantly regretting it. She grabbed it with both hands, eyes wide as she assessed the weight. “You carry this thing around all the time?”

“Yeah, you wanna try?” he asked, and she nodded numbly. He took the leather waistband and secured it around Pidge’s waist. Since it took up the height of Keith’s lower-abdomen, it filled the entirity of her stomach. She lumbered around, laughing, and mockingly bent down to “tie her shoe”. She stopped at a direct ninety-degree angle and couldn’t fold any further. 

“I yield!” she shouted, springing back up and gesturing for him to undo it. “I want to meet this Coran fella. Maybe he could get me my own sword?”

“Not a chance.” Shiro’s voice brought their attention to the door. He stepped into Keith’s room, assessing the uniform laid out on the bed, and the belt Keith held loosely in his hand. “Let me see it,” he ordered.

Keith handed it over, and Shiro inspected the belt and went through each one of the sheaths before snapping his fingers at Pidge. “Hand it over,” he demanded, and she groaned, pulling out one of Keith’s throwing knives and slapping it into Shiro’s hand. He passed the belt back to Keith. “ _Never_ wave sharp items around her. She’ll snatch them up.”

“I do not,” she whined.

“And on top of it, she’ll lie about it,” he added, looking pointedly at her as Keith chuckled, tossing the belt back onto his bed. “But really, no sword?”

“No, too bulky to carry around. I have a revolver though,” Keith said, sliding it out of its holster and pointing it at Shiro. He slapped his hand onto the barrel and lowered it, revealing a rather unpleasant frown. “Sorry, but there’s also a pistol.” He laughed, swinging up his other firearm only to have that deflected as well.

Pidge barked out a laugh. “I like this game!”

“Okay, another house rule: Don’t point _guns at me_ ,” Shiro hissed, yanking them out of Keith’s hands and setting them onto the bed. Keith grinned innocently at him. “In other news, we’ll be having a bit of a… party tonight. Semi-formal, with Provost Thrace, Lord McClain, and Lord Garrett.”

“Tonight?” Pidge repeated, shocked. “When was this scheduled.”

Shiro seemed a bit hesitant about the details himself, and started to walk away. Pidge demanded again, so he turned back and said, “Since _Lance_ and _Hunk_ saw that Keith returned. They managed to convince their fathers to visit, and at the time the Provost was visiting with the McClain sisters. Suffice to say _all_ of their families are coming to welcome Keith back.”

Pidge choked on a laugh and coughed, hands falling to her knees as she tried to recover from the shock of it. Keith was so started he stared after Shiro, even after the man was gone. Eventually Pidge yelped, “ _Christ_ , since when did _you_ get to have parties thrown in your honor! I never had one of those!”

Keith turned to stare at her, dread rising. “This means I’ll have to talk about all the details of my trip,” he murmured. At once Pidge froze, both of their chests seizing up at the thought of it. There were some things that Keith retained from his childhood, and that was his inability to keep his mouth shut. Which meant lies could build up and he’d be in a tangle of them. 

“I-I may or may not have told Lance and Hunk that I was visiting friends,” Keith croaked. Pidge slapped a hand to her head, cursing out loud. “We have to make up _entire families_ —I have to remember all their _names_ and they aren’t even _real_ —!”

“O-Okay, okay, don’t panic—we’ll just… we’ll use our background information, right? From the history books! Men like Lord McClain and Garrett don’t know all the historical figures—”

“What about the Provost—”

“What the _hell_ do you think he’s got the title for?! Shit! He probably even remembers the exact weight of amber recovered in the Drahn Mines collapse two-and-a-half centuries ago during the Helvian Uprising.”

Keith paled. “The what?”

Pidge clapped her hands onto his shoulders and shook him, screaming, “We’re gonna read every goddamn Bulmerian book in this goddamn house if I have any goddamn thing to do with it!” She dragged him forward and shoved him out of his room. 

She stormed towards the library, and on the way they passed Shiro’s office where he called out, “Is everything all right? I heard shouting,” to which Pidge replied, “Everything is _perfect_!” despite the fact that her nails were now digging into Keith’s arm.

They spent the entire afternoon researching Bulmerian sight-seeing in the exact area Shiro claimed Keith came from. They took the most obscure names possible from the history books and used them to formulate the entire family Keith stayed with. Pidge made whole profiles for the family members, and introduced him to each one as if meeting them for the first time. He even had baby stories for backup.

When they were called to get ready for the party, Keith only felt _slightly_ better about his chances of wooing everyone away with how incredible of a trip he had. As long as he didn’t mention his in-depth knowledge of what goes on behind the scenes in brothels, he should be safe.

Keith hurriedly buttoned up his maroon undershirt, slipped on his vest, tied his boots, and straightened out his slacks. He fished around for his lucky charm in one of his wardrobe drawers, and inserted it into his chest pocket. By the time he swept down the stairs, practically flying down the railing, Pidge and Shiro were there and the first car arrived. Shiro brushed off Keith’s shoulders and combed his hair back. “It’ll do,” he said, and in Keith’s anxious mind, he tried not to panic over those two words.

The instant the door opened, Keith wasn’t even surprised to find Lance standing there. He really did seem like the kind of kid who wanted to be first to everything. And on top of it, he was vibrating with excitement.

“ _Keeith!_ ” he screamed, dodging past his father, who stepped out of the way with a laugh. Keith’s eyes went wide, barely able to register what was happening until Lance finally slowed down enough to step back and shaking him by the shoulders. “I bet you thought yesterday was the last time you had to see me in one week!” 

“Lance was persistent we get here first,” Dean McClain said to Shiro, who laughed as Lance turned to him and whined, “Don’t _tell him that_!”

“You’re already lame enough as it is,” Keith murmured, quiet enough for just Lance to hear. That caused the boy to stare at him, flabbergasted, as Keith broke out into a brazen grin that would put Coran to shame.

With them came Lance’s mother, Anita McClain, and his younger brother and two sisters. The first thing the small boy did was tackle Pidge in a hug, and his mother warned, “Sebastian, manners.”

“Sorry, mother,” he groaned, pulling away from the pleats in Pidge’s soft, beige-pink dress. “And sorry, Katie.”

She waved it off, and afterwards, bent down to his level and whispered, “I missed you too, Seb.”

Keith had met the entire family by that point, and wasn’t surprised when Lance’s eldest sister—a year younger than himself—stuck her tongue out at him. It appeared she hadn’t recovered from the time Keith accidentally, somehow, insulted her hair the first time they met. 

The first person to confront him about Bulmera was Anita the instant she embraced him and held him by the arm, saying, “It’s good to have you back. How was your trip?”

“I’m just glad to be off the ship. I’ll tell you all about the trip later,” he promised, and was surprised by how smooth he sounded. From the side, Pidge gave him a discrete high-five. 

He and Anita talked about sea travel until the Thraces arrived—a family of five with a lovely eldest daughter named Beatrice, and the youngest of the bunch: a boy named Domen who was approximately Pidge’s age. He flocked straight to her—which Pidge had warned him would be a common thing that night. “He’s _obsessed_ with me,” she told him no more than an hour ago. “I don’t see why. I stole his golden cufflinks a while back and got caught for it.”

Beatrice was nice enough. Shiro introduced Keith to her, and he found himself startled by the distinct brown color of her eyes. It was so incredibly light, one could mistake it for gold. Domen was the same way, and it made it difficult for Keith to focus on anything but that whenever they spoke.

And then there was the eldest Thrace son, Yvon. He was older than Keith and Lance, and while he was entirely engrossed in everything the adults were saying, he sacrificed time before the meal to hang out with them when the Garretts showed up.

The Garretts were a small family of three. Like most noble families, they gossiped, so Pidge knew the entire ordeal with Lord Garrett’s wife. It seemed Hunk would be their only child and heir.

“Has Keith shown you how to throw knives?” Yvon asked Hunk and Lance, both of whom looked to Keith in shock. Keith rolled his eyes, ducking his head to avoid attention.

“I haven’t… really, you know, practiced those sorts of sports with them,” Keith explained.

“Yeah, why haven’t you?” Hunk complained. “I want to throw knives!”

“Well, for one, you would totally crush me,” Keith laughed, nudging Hunk’s arm. “And also throwing knives is a bit more dangerous than slapping around fake swords. You can’t exactly use fake knives to do it.”

“Could you show us?” Lance asked, blue puppy eyes wide in awe. Keith’s entire chest felt like someone had set it on fire before slamming him into a brick wall. 

He wasn’t sure if it was because the anxiety of being put on the spot like that, or the fact that he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about how to _be_ Lance since last night.

“I’d like to practice. My father won’t let me invest in a set,” Yvon said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. Hunk pitched in as well, which led them all to the back of the house, into the garden where they lit up all the available lamp posts. Keith went to fetch his set—the one he’d shown Yvon before Coran gave him a new one. 

At once Lance and Hunk were snatching them up and inspection them. “They’re kind of dull—do you need to sharpen them?” Hunk asked.

“No, they’re supposed to be. They won’t work if they’re sharp,” Keith said, setting the case on one of the stone benches. He passed one to Yvon. “You want me to go first?”

“Sure, refresh my memory,” the guy said, propping himself up with his feet on the bench and seated on the stone back. There was a tree nearby—a few yards away. It wasn’t an insane distance, so Keith turned his eyes to Lance and Hunk, and flicked his wrist towards the tree. The solid _thunk_ reassured him that he hit his target, and also the fact that both Lance and Hunk released an excited yelp.

Yvon squared up the tree next after Keith retrieve his knife. He came back only to be caught by Lance’s arm going around his shoulders. “You think you could show me how to do that?” he asked. “Where’d you learn anyhow?”

He couldn’t exactly say that he learned it from the kids in Allura’s shelter, so he said, “A friend in Bulmera showed me.” Lance’s arm was burning his neck, but he didn’t mind one bit.

One of the maids came to summon Yvon—he was needed in the drawing room. So he reluctantly left, and instantly Lance went for the knife he left behind. He pinched it in his fingers and hurried back to Keith. “Show me how to do it,” he demanded.

Keith swallowed hard, aware that Lance’s eyes looked frenzied in the lamplight. He recovered his train of thought long enough to look down at Lance’s hands. “Well, for one, you aren’t holding it right.”

He lifted his own hands, hesitantly, and after nearly retracting them, he laid them over Lance’s and maneuvered the knife so Lance’s fingers were curled into his palm, and the blade was pinched between his thumb and the flat side of his index finger. “Hold it loosely,” Keith said, voice quiet.

Lance hummed somewhere in the back of his throat, and quickly cleared it. “Uh… right—can I ask you something?” he asked.

Keith’s fingers paused over Lance’s wrist. “Sure.”

The boy lifted up his free hand to point at Keith’s wrists. “What happened here?” 

He looked at the pale skin there, and where Lance’s finger was pointing to. Keith stared at it for a moment, not registering what it was he was looking at until he remembered—there was a reason why he always wore long sleeves around guests. 

Keith pulled away and tugged his sleeve down a bit more. Rollo’s tally marks stopped at his wrists, and displayed themselves in dark red lines—pretty obvious on his pallid skin. “Nothing—something—it was just… an accident, when I was a kid. But, um, you’ll want to stand facing the tree, and then—are you left-hand dominant then?”

“Um… I can do either,” Lance said. “But yeah, left-hand is fine.”

Keith didn’t know many ambidextrous people.

Lance stared at him, frozen in the stance Keith left him in. They stared at each other, probably wondering what the hell was going on. Something definitely shifted, and Keith wondered if it had something to do with the fact that Keith was sweating like it _wasn’t_ kind of chilly out. It felt like his hands were imprinted with the signature of Lance’s fingers, melding around the blade of the knife.

“Uh…” 

Keith’s breath hitched at the sound of Hunk, not too far away, staring at them in equal confusion. They both looked at him, forgetting that he was definitely there with them. “I… I don’t really know what’s going on,” Hunk said.

Lance cleared his throat and said, “I’ll just, um, do the thing.” With that, he pulled his hand back, and flung it forward. There was some rotation on the knife, but not enough to nail the tree bark. It hit, though, but didn’t stick.

“It takes practice,” Keith said, looking to his feet the second Lance turned back to him. He held out a knife to Hunk. “Let’s do this.”


	6. Spy Material

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith falls in love with a pianist, learns how to stalk said pianist, and then strips in front of the entire city from the rooftop.

“I really don’t think they’ll care. It’s just for fun,” Lance was saying, lifting up a glass to Keith’s face. Pidge was standing with them, and by default, so was Domen Thrace. Keith glanced at her—she was nodding at everything Domen said, laughing when necessary, and overall coasting through life with a water glass in hand filled with some form of alcohol that looked as close to water as possible. 

“Aren’t you, like, nine years old?” Keith hissed to her as he accepted the glass from Lance.

“Almost ten,” she argued.

“That’s _literally_ no better.” His retort was silenced by Lance tipping his cup up to his lips. He took a few gulps and regretted it. Keith never did like the taste of alcohol. “Do your parents let you drink?”

“Socially, but not for the hell of it,” Lance said with a shrug. “Champagne and stuff. Like this.”

Keith nodded, pursing his lips as he searched for Hunk. He was standing by the grand piano alongside his mother. They were all in the music room, ever since the parents insisted on wooing the crowd with their children’s individual talents. At the moment, Yvon and Beatrice were playing the violin—Shiro owned three of them, and it just so happened two of the Thrace children were excellent violinists. 

“What do you play?” Keith asked Lance.

“Piano, mostly,” he said, quiet as the music seemed to lull the room into silence.

Keith stifled a laugh, and when Lance looked at him questioningly, he whispered, “Pianist.”

Lance snorted and slapped his hand over his mouth. Keith giggled, and was swiftly silenced by Pidge’s elbow in his side. He bit his lip before attempting to douse his blush by consuming several gulps of champagne.

The violin played out smoothly, and as the piece came to a quiet end, everyone clapped for them. 

“Hunk, you and Lance should play a duet,” Anita McClain suggested, and Lance’s father hummed in agreement. Keith looked at the both of them, and saw Lance’s face flush a little for the first time.

Hunk seemed excited about the offer, and went for the piano bench. Lance stepped away from Keith, setting his glass on the table, and took a seat beside his friend. They looked at each other once, deciding on a song, and began to [play](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9E6b3swbnWg).

Keith never learned how to play an instrument. And even if Shiro attempt to convince him to play one, he still thought it was useless for him. But not for Hunk and Lance. They were… incredible together, but then again, Keith didn’t hear much music before this. He heard street songs, meant for swing dancing and such, but never this. This was the sort of music that seemed to be reserved for high society. A luxury Keith was getting a taste of, and he wanted more of it.

He wished he was closer to see how their fingers moved across the keys. The way Lance’s arms moved gave a hint to the complexity of the song, and how the tempo picked up and seemed to soar. Keith clutched at his champagne glass, and when the song came to a close, he took a heavy gulp of it until the drink was gone.

When Lance returned, Keith tried his best to look monotonous. He was usually so good at it, but seeing Lance coming back towards him like that—he felt his chest begin to ache. Was it really that great of an idea to befriend someone who made his insides burn like oil on an open flame?

He swallowed hard and said, “That was really good.”

The apprehensive look on Lance’s face vanished. He beamed at Keith. “Really? You think so? I’ve been playing since I was five.”

 _Yeah, well, I’ve been throwing knives since I was five. So touché, my friend_.

  


  


Every week Keith trained with Coran—mostly at night, in the safe house where Coran taught Keith how to fight like him. Like an assassin.

He was trash at the chemistry behind poison-making, but with specific recipes he did fine. Coran taught him how to make coma-inducing poisons, effective sleep medications, poisons that… indispose a man for several hours to the bathroom. None of these he attempted on himself, but they all wracked up in the storage units within Coran’s safe house. Keith sometimes stared at the collection as it grew, wondering, _what the hell could this all be for?_

He went to parties, in the meantime. Winter was all about festivities. The previous winter Keith spent still recovering from the streets—in other words, fattening up, reading, and learning proper social etiquette when Pidge and Shiro were home. He used to practice a lot with the house staff back then, but now it was time to put that all to the test.

He went to parties with and without Pidge—the ones without were the hardest to tolerate. During those ones, he often found himself thinking about everything Coran was teaching him. It became easy to consider the options a fork on the dining table could propose. There were so many opportunities for him to kill noblemen at the dinner parties. Every time he visited Lance or Hunk, he had the chance to kill their parents if he wanted to. He habitually wore a weapon of some sort against the small of his back—it was discrete enough to avoid detection if guards were to pat him down. Coran helped him pick the knife—it had a nearly paper-thin blade.

A year later, the summer seasons provided him time to prepare for the execution of Coran’s plans. He was fifteen then—two years after Allura took him off the streets. Summer became the time in which he trained excessively, with and without Coran’s help. He became so fluent in the art of solidifying air that disappearing out his bedroom window became second-nature. He no longer required drainpipes to climb rooftops—simple steps against the walls were enough to boost him up, one foot on either wall. 

Invisible blades were harder to use, and he much preferred his own, anyway. 

Coran made him practice his spying techniques on some of the noble houses. He’d lay on rooftops peering into room windows, watching sons and daughters he saw every now and then, going about their lives thinking no one was watching. 

Prorok’s son was seeing Sendak’s eldest daughter. He would sneak out his bedroom window—far less graceful than Keith, anyway—and would walk the small distance to the back of the Sendak manor. There, he would crawl straight through her open window, and Keith would turn his eyes away for those parts. 

Sendak’s youngest daughter was somewhat of a saint. Sure, she was a bit of a snot in most cases, but Keith found her reading to her mother, knitting, and drawing. She was an excellent painter, and had made several large canvases into masterpieces during the time Keith watched her. He also watch Sendak observe them upon completion, and not acknowledge the effort art took. Her mother was sympathetic enough to make up for it, though.

Keith followed Prorok’s son, Sylvester, around a lot, on Coran’s orders. He was supposedly “in love” with Beatrice, Thrace’s daughter, but Keith found that hard to believe if the man continually saw Sendak’s eldest—almost ritually, even. Same time, every three nights. 

Coran encouraged Keith to spy on other people, perhaps to keep him occupied. He spent a lot of time outside Lance’s bedroom window, sitting still so it wouldn’t take much mental effort to stay invisible behind his mimicry filter. The more he watched Lance, the more he had to be careful when they met one another. He had to stop assuming things just from what he observed from afar.

Lance wasn’t like Sylvester. At night, he slept, and in the morning, he got up in the same bed. He enjoyed sitting at his windowsill in the evening, and drank a _lot_ of tea. The kid was an addict on that stuff. He had his own kettle in his room and everything. Every now and then he read to his youngest sister, at night. She’d come into his room and cozy up with him on his bed, and listen to him for an hour before bed. Keith stayed long enough some nights to watch Lance’s youngest siblings pounce on his bed in the morning to wake him up.

Keith found it… daunting, to say the least. Coran insisted spying was the best way to catch the flaws in people, but Lance was _perfect_. Keith would never have the patience for reading to someone at night—he wasn’t that great of a reader in general. And as if _Pidge_ would—actually, she _would_ pounce on his bed in the morning to wake him up. But that was simply because she didn’t have manners, as opposed to Lance’s siblings. But then again, he was assuming things—but it certainly did look like Lance’s siblings adored him very much.

And he could see why.

He tucked his chin against his knees, arms curling around them as he watched Lance shoo Sebastian out of his room to change. At fifteen, Lance was still lanky, but he didn’t look or feel boney at all anymore. He was still as affectionate with Keith as ever—arms over the shoulder, hugs for greetings—so Keith could see and feel the change.

Lance tugged his pajama shirt over his head and tossed it into the hamper. Out of respect, Keith pressed his closed eyes to his knees when Lance completely disrobed. Spying taught him not to be really concerned every goddamn time he saw someone with their pants off, but Lance was his friend. At least, he thought so. Wanted it to be so? He wasn’t sure anymore.

On rare occasions Keith managed to show up at just the right time to hear he and his siblings practicing their instruments. He’d get closer for those, and sit outside their music room window, just to the side of it where he could hear them play. He loved listening to Lance play the piano—the other instruments were fine, but Keith was especially interested in the piano. It just… sounded so incredible to him, and it felt like Lance could play anything he wanted on it.

Every time he left the McClain residence, he wasn’t sure how to feel about himself, or Lance for that matter.

“You spend too much time thinking about him,” Coran commented one night as they discussed the content Keith compiled that week. Most of it involving things he found here and there in Prorok’s house. Intruding was becoming a habit now that he knew _their_ habits. Now he knew why Allura wanted him to read: he would skim through documents and retain as much as he could from them and relay them back to Coran. His memory was getting better—incredible, even. 

“I figured you’d say that,” Keith sighed as he sat atop Coran’s table and polished his weapons. He laid them out flat for Coran to check over.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. Crushes aren’t terrible—but they aren’t useful, that’s for certain,” he said, and Keith glared at him briefly before forcing his attention back to his task. “Do you think you’ll act on it?”

“On a crush? I’m not really interested in crushing Lance at anything unless it’s chess. Because we already decided sports aren’t a smart thing to discuss around him—”

“No, not that sort of crush,” Coran said, shaking his head. “I mean, your feelings for the lad. How do you feel about him?”

“I don’t know how I feel. I’ve told you that. I think we’re friends? But Lance is really… touchy-feely with everyone,” Keith explained. “Even people he claims he isn’t friends with.”

“Most noblemen’s sons and daughters are like that. Prorok’s son, Sylvester, an example of that. They keep their enemies close, and use them for their own selfish purposes,” he explained. 

Keith hesitated, lowering his ammunition pouch to look at Coran. “But… I don’t think Lance is like that. I think he just genuinely _likes_ people.”

“He is a bit of a romantic in that sense, I agree. But as you know I do a bit of my own spying here and there. Put aside Lance’s universal romantic notions for a moment please. What are your feelings for him then?” Coran asked, leaning against the table with both arms crossed, and a patient expression on his face. 

Keith turned away and tried to picture Lance without his misguided affections. “I think… that he’s innocent. And I really admire that.”

“Because you are not,” Coran commented, and before Keith could agree or disagree on that, he added, “I say this because I wholeheartedly believe that the things we love the most are entirely unlike ourselves. And I’m not saying pursuing him is a terrible idea because it isn’t what _I_ think that matters. But you should know that your feelings for Lance could put him at risk, but make you a better person.”

Keith frowned at Coran, unwilling to voice the fact that what he said distressed Keith. 

  


  


“It’s our one year friend-i-versary, so I want to get you something,” Lance said, voice stern as he addressed Keith in the middle of the goddamn marketplace. Keith stared at him, eyes wide as Lance grabbed him by the arm and tugged him towards the booth. “Let me _get you something_.”

“I—I really don’t need anything,” Keith insisted, ears going bright red. “Was I—was I supposed to get you something?”

“No, this is just something that I want to do for you,” he said dismissively, but when he looked at Keith’s distressed expression, he sighed. “Seriously, I don’t need anything.”

“I just said that and yet you’re buying something for me.”

Lance groaned, shaking Keith’s arm. “But I really _mean it_.”

“So do I! Don’t argue with me here. If you get me something, then I _have_ to return the favor,” Keith said, expression harsh as he pegged Lance with a glare. They stared each other down until Keith said, “It’s a Bulmerian tradition.”

At this Lance let out a defeated sigh. “I can’t argue with tradition. Then fine, you can get something for me as well. What if they were matching?”

Keith laughed a little, and agreed to it. Lance was so insistent that they get something from the current stand. There were watches, necklaces, rings, and clips. Lance was especially interested in the pins. He pressed his finger to the glass and asked the jeweler to take out the pin, just for a closer look. 

Lance pressed it to the front of Keith’s shirt and hummed thoughtfully. “I like the rose. What do you think?”

Keith brought the pin closer to his eyes and said, “I like it, too.”

“Alright then. Two of the rose pins,” Lance announced to the jeweler. “Separately, please.”

Shiro gave Keith a bit of money prior to his leaving for the marketplace with Lance, in case he wanted to buy anything. Every time Shiro did that, Keith came back empty handed, except for the money he returned to Shiro. The rose pin was the first thing Keith ever bought at the marketplace.

When he tugged the case out of his pocket, his lucky charm fell out. Lance stooped down to pick it up. “You dropped a coin,” he said, placing it Keith’s palm. He quickly tucked it back into his pocket and paid up, swiping his purchase up afterwards.

Keith stepped away from the booth as Lance finished up his purchase. He glanced over at all the people on the streets—it was the busiest part of the city, which meant even slum kids sometimes visited. Every now and then he saw pickpockets around, and he always navigated Lance away from them when they hung out in the city. He even recalled one time where he caught a kid nearly making off with a few of his coins. That day was interesting because Lance barraged him on letting the kid go with the money, even though Keith could have easily taken it back.

“ _Keeith!_ ” Lance cried out, slamming into his back and sending them both staggering onto the brick-paved road. He laughed, and yanked himself out of Lance’s hold. “Hang on—let’s put them on each other at the same time.”

“That seems a bit excessive—”

“But it’s necessary. Come on, eyes over here.” Keith rolled his eyes, but turned around anyway and let Lance steady him with two hands on his shoulders. “I don’t know how you stand wearing long sleeves in this kind of weather. Is here good?” Lance jabbed a finger on the right side of Keith’s chest. He nodded and after navigating his arms around Lance, he pinched a bit of the fabric on Lance’s shirt, and speared it with the metal pin. 

Later that day, Keith convinced Lance to hang out on his rooftop with a bit of melting ice cream in bowls. They crawled out through Keith’s bedroom window and climbed up a ways to the second ledge. The entire time Lance was hollering, “You’ll catch me, right!” while Keith repeated, bored, “You’re not gonna fall.”

Keith sat with his legs dangling off the rooftop, while Lance insisted on pulling his knees up to his chest. “For safe-keeping,” he explained when Keith asked why. 

They ate in silence. There was still a bit of daylight left, and with the sky weaving between the clouds, Keith found himself content just sitting beside Lance and taking in the city, the river, the sky above them. He licked the spoon clean of sugary ice cream, and hesitated when he felt a tug on his sleeve.

“You have them on both arms,” Lance commented quietly.

Keith pulled at his arm, and Lance’s gentle grip came loose instantly. He frowned at the edge of the roof, which was approximately a five inches from Lance’s feet. Eventually Lance set his empty bowl down and scooted closer. He reached a hand out, and hovered it over Keith’s arm. 

It must have been from the gleeful haze Keith had been in that entire day, but he let Lance roll up his sleeve. The tally marks were touched by the light one by one, up to his elbow. “Is this… this isn’t a _traditional_ thing—”

“No, no. Nothing like that,” Keith said quickly, shaking his head. He lowered his bowl down.

“Then you didn’t… do this yourself?” he asked, and Keith shook his head, and shuddered under the feel of Lance’s fingertips brushing over the ridges of the scar tissue.

Keith reached out his other arm and rolled up the sleeve. His forearms were defined, not just in shape but by the dark arm hair that was chopped up by the scars. He looked at both of his arms in the sunlight and twisted the undersides of his arms up. There were small marks, but nothing Rollo did purposefully, or even done by Rollo for that matter. 

He licked his lips, brows furrowing as he said, “They, uh… they go up to my shoulders.”

“Could I see?” Lance asked, and instantly the implication of that turned his cheeks red. “I mean—never mind. That was rude of me. You don’t have to take your _shirt off_ if you don’t _want to_. It’s just that I’m—I guess I’m curious?” 

Keith laughed, surprised that he felt so calm. He never expected he’d _have_ to show Lance his scars. Lance’s reaction to it hadn’t been what he expected, so Keith was right to feel bold. “Hang on,” he said, and untucked his shirt from his trousers.

He unbuttoned the top few buttons before pulling it over his head, careful of the pin. “I think there’s thirteen on both sides. So twenty-six?”

“That’s a lot.” The words sounded strange—like Lance choked on them as they came out. Keith stopped smiling, lowering his arms to look at Lance’s pallid expression. “What happened to you? Are you okay?” Lance said quickly, his eyes taking on this… strange, unfamiliar look that Keith was only familiar with because he saw plenty of it on the streets. But he’d never seen it displayed so unselfishly before. 

“I’m fine now,” Keith said, clutching the pin through the shirt fabric in his hands. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine, Lance—please don’t—”

It was too late. Lance’s entire face scrunched up before he grabbed hold of Keith’s arm and pressed his forehead to Keith’s shoulder. He stayed like that, trying to control the hot moisture leaking out onto Keith’s skin. And Keith had no clue how to deal with this. He was never equipped with the knowledge of how to console a person—as if _Pidge_ would ever need consoling anyway. She would probably keep everything bottled up inside until one day she would die. 

“I can’t stop worrying,” Lance said, sniffling. “I hate to see you _hurting—_ ”

“I’m not hurting, Lance. I’m not in pain, I’m okay. It… it was a while ago.” _Of course, it doesn’t feel like that long ago, especially when I have nightmares to remind me of it_ , he thought.

Lance pulled away, taking in a deep breath as he laid a hand flat over Keith’s scars. “I hate to see the people I love… _hurt_. And at one point you _hurt_ and I am sorry I wasn’t there to help you.”

Keith stared at him, mind blanking for a second. So he wasn’t entirely in control of his own speech when he said, “You… love me?”

Both of their faces flushed, and Lance retracted his hands to tug at his flaming ears. “I—uh, I mean—everyone I love my family and Hunk and stuff but I mean I love you—n-not like, I love you as a _friend_ , or… whatever yooou… want this—to be?” His brows condensed in thought, hands folding together. He looked like he was about to accuse Keith of something, and as he tilted his head, Keith mimicked the action.

“Uh… yes?” he said, eyebrow quirking up.

Lance sighed in relief, dropping his hands to the rooftop. He turned back to the rooftops across the river before scowling and looking at Keith again. “Just to confirm—‘yes,’ what?”

“Whatever I want this to be,” he replied, surprised that even _he_ was able to say it. “I… really like hanging out with you, and everyone here is so great. I never expected to… _be_ in this situation and maybe I’m pushing my luck because luck hasn’t exactly been on my side before. But I just… really… I don’t know.”

“Are you kidding?” Lance said, his smile starting to spread. “I couldn’t even _begin_ to consider you actually liking me like that. You just seem… so brooding and out of my league.”

“ _Brooding_ and _out of your league_?” Keith sputtered, and howled with laughter. He fell back, hands over his face. He laughed so hard he started crying and his cheeks became sore from smiling. Lance fell back beside him, and poked at Keith’s stomach. 

“You want to put a shirt on now? I mean, as much as I’d like to see more of your—what is that? Four-pack, maybe? Okay, it’s, like, on the verge of a six-pack, but—”

Keith shoved him aside and sat back up, grinning ear-to-ear as he straightened out his shirt. He barely got his arms in the sleeves when Lance let out a little squeak. He glanced back at Lance, eyebrows raised, and instantly Lance sucked in his lips and said, “Nothing. Put your shirt on already.”

“Sheesh, hold your horses,” Keith muttered, chuckling.

Not long after, Keith stacked their ice cream bowls and assisted Lance on the descent. The sun was setting when Lance sat on the edge of Keith’s window and slipped back inside. He accepted the bowls Keith handed down to him before he swung in, and landed firmly on both feet. 

Lance had to leave soon, Keith knew that. They’d only ever had one slumber party, and _boy_ was that an event. Hunk was there, as was Yvon and Beatrice—the only reason Beatrice was able to come was simply because her eldest brother was there, and Pidge participated as well. Sebastian stayed for the short while Dean McClain spent talking to Shiro. 

Keith imagined how easy it would be to just… slip into Lance’s window at night. Like Sylvester did with Sendak’s eldest daughter.

He shook that out of his head the instant Lance said, “Oh—I forgot, my father wanted me to ask Shiro something. Do you think I could talk to him quick, before I go?”

“Sure, I’ll have to ask, though,” he said. They got to the first floor where he knocked on Shiro’s office door. When he called for him to come in, Keith peered in and relayed the news.

“Send him in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, the timeline goes like so: Keith was 13 when he was taken off the streets, spent some time getting accustom to things until he was practically 14, met Lance and Hunk, and the friend-i-versary happens when they're about 15. 
> 
> I'm gonna be super busy tomorrow so I probs won't post again until Sunday. I gotta edit it and all still.


	7. Sorcery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith gets scolded by Shiro, gets his ass thoroughly thrashed, and then befriends an elderly lady.

“You _showed him_ your scars and on top of it gave him next to no security on how and where you got them,” Shiro all but shouted, standing across from Keith in the office. He slouched in the chair, feeling smaller than he’d felt in a while. His scars had always been a touchy subject. “You do realize that people like Lance are completely sheltered from what it’s like in the slums. The _idea_ of having a scar, for one, is bizarre. Do you have any idea what would have happened had he not come to me? So I could talk him out of confiding in his father for information about the patches?”

Keith blinked quickly, tearing his eyes up from the ground. “The patches? What patches? I showed him Rollo’s tally marks.”

Shiro hesitated, pursing his lips as he carefully considered his next words. He lowered his eyes down to the desk, and slowly bit out, “Do you know what sort of people Lord McClain has on his plantation? Specifically, where they come from?” 

Keith shook his head.

“The workers come from poor families, and Lord McClain provides for them, and offers them lodgings, on the estate. Otherwise they would be in the slums. Do you see where I’m going with this?” Again, Keith shook his head. “Sometimes… older kids who work the plantations used to be involved in gangs, like yours. Patches are relatively common among children in gangs.”

“Y-You mean the swatches, on my back?” Keith said, pointing to where he used to feel them on his shoulder blades. Where the thugs would take out swatches of fabric from his shirt, back when he was a newbie. 

“Yes. You should be thankful Lance doesn’t spend much time with those kids. He doesn’t know where they get their patches from,” Shiro said. Keith turned his eyes back to the ground, rubbing a hand over his cheek. “I know you trust Lance, but he’s an heir, Keith. He and his father are _incredibly_ close.”

“I know,” he murmured. “I don’t mean to get you in trouble or anything like that.”

Shiro was quiet for a moment, before he sighed and stepped away from the desk. He came around to rub Keith on the head. “I know you don’t. And I am glad, that you found a friend other than Pidge.”

Keith inhaled sharply, and nodded fast. Shiro dismissed him, and at once he was up in his room getting dressed for his nightly run.

  


  


He did his usual rounds with the Proroks. He followed the eldest son to the Sendak manor. The boy left the window open—the night breeze wasn’t too chilly that day. With the daughter thoroughly distracted, Keith navigated a building over and lifted up his spyglass to peer into the other windows. The master suite’s light were off, blinds closed. The house staff was still up and about, and would be until the kitchen was spotless from dinner and preparations for the next day. 

So Keith slipped in through the hallway window, the same hallway that connected the daughter’s room to her parents across the hall.

He hesitated in the soft light that filtered out from the daughter’s room. A shadow shifted on the other side, so he continued onwards, one gloved hand trailing along the wall to his right.

_Find a letter sent by the King’s secretary_ , he repeated in his head on the way down the steps. He turned invisible against the wall as soon as the light became dim enough.

He crept into the where Sendak’s offices were. He pressed an ear to the door long enough to tell that all was silent, just as he observed from outdoors. The door opened with ease, and he left it open just slightly—hardly enough to even _notice_ it was open.

Keith grinned as he walked into the room. In the dark, his cloak kept him well-hidden, enough to walk freely even with the open windows. He sifted through Sendak’s newest mailings, and anything near the surface of his drawers. He sat himself in Sendak’s massive chair and _oh_ , was it comfy. He even had it cushioned with deep purple velvet. 

Keith carded through the letters in his hand before setting them back down and lifting up a pad of paper with cursive lists. He hated cursive. Pidge was rather good at it, but she was awful at teaching it. Every time Keith tried it ended up looking something like a drunken toddler’s scribbles.

He put the pad down and transitioned to an envelope edged between two binders. He skimmed over it and set it down—before picking it up again and squinting at the words. That sure looked like official business to him, so he ripped it open—

—and was interrupted by the sound of voices approaching fast. _Sendak_.

Keith flew from the chair and to the nearby wall. He slipped the letter into his waistband and threw up the filter as the door swung open, a voice bellowing, “I know I am far better suited for this position, but that is no reason to—”

“You have always been so narcissistic, haven’t you?” a woman’s voice spoke up, grating against Keith’s ears. It was the sort of voice he… almost recognized—like an elderly woman after years of smoking cigars. “The position isn’t being cleared _because_ of you. Recent events have proven the Commander unfit—openly assaulting one of my sorcerers hardly seems like the rational thought of an experienced military officer. He has always been skeptical of my work.”

“Yes, and we all appreciate your work—me especially. I find it to be a reassuring advantage,” Sendak said, turning to the woman with a tight-lipped smile. He had a stocky build, and his suit just seemed to make his shoulders more pronounced. 

The woman, however, was someone Keith couldn’t seem to look away from. She nearly looked like Allura from first glance.

Her extravagantly long white hair was definitely a signature they shared in common. Her features were slim and angular, much like Allura, though they differed mostly in appearance of age. This woman was weathered and hardly seemed like the type to smile. 

“Anyone who threatens my people answers to me. I expect Prorok won’t doubt me any longer—you have my word. You would be a welcome change. The King is thrilled to hear you will be taking the post, especially after Prorok’s unsettling _message_ ,” she spat out the last word, hand twisting on the edge of one of Sendak’s chairs. 

The partially-open door slammed shut, and it startled Keith into grimacing. For the split second he looked to the door and back, the woman’s eyes were around the room and darting over to him. Her eyes went wide. 

“When will you be returning the message, if you don’t mind me asking,” Sendak asked, drawing the woman’s attention back to him. 

“Tonight. Don’t be surprised if you don’t hear from me,” she said gruffly, bluntly, and took off for the door. Sendak crossed his arms over his bulky chest as the woman slammed the door behind her, and left the pictures on the wall quivering.

Keith stared after her, shaking so hard it was a wonder Sendak never noticed the quivering distortion in his bookcase. The man sighed and turned towards his desk, bracing two hands on it as he looked down at the stacks of books and paperwork. He picked up a pair of reading glasses and the stack of envelopes Keith had sifted through. To his great relief, Sendak left the room completely.

Keith staggered away from the bookshelf quickly. He ran towards the door and listened for Sendak’s footsteps to disappear up the stairs. Keith followed after him, disappearing and reappearing on different walls before snaking his way to the second floor. Sendak was just closing the door to his room when Keith peaked out from around the bend in the staircase. 

The hallway window was still open. He bolted for it, dove through it, and clamored onto the rooftop of the neighboring building. The distance was enough to scare him, but with the adrenaline pumping through his veins, he couldn’t stop himself to think about it.

_She means to take out Commander Prorok_ , Keith thought, legs pumping fast and pedaling as he soar to the next rooftop. He stumbled up the slope, and skidded down the other side. _What did she mean by ‘sorcery’?_

He hadn’t heard of sorcery in ages. It came up in the childish tales kids in the gang told every now and then. Legends, mostly. Magic wasn’t really a thing anymore—supposedly it was, back in ancient times, but then it just… faded away. They had other things now, like electricity, and more recently, vehicles, like the sort Lord Garrett manufactured. His designs were revolutionary—if anything, Keith considered cars to be sorcery until the day Allura had Rollo shove him into one that took him far, _far_ away from the slums.

Keith bolted through Sylvester’s open bedroom window. His feet skidded across the carpet as he ran for the door—he knew right where Prorok’s bedroom was, and he didn’t even care to contemplate the consequences. 

He yanked on the handle, but it was locked. “Shit!” He yanked out his revolver and slammed the handle onto the lock three times to break it. The door slammed against the wall, but the noise of Keith breaking the lock was enough to send both Commander and Lady Prorok sitting up in bed.

“Get the hell out of my house! Who the fuck are you—” the man was shouting—Keith could hear his wife shrieking, yanking up the covers to hide. 

Keith held the gun up, scoping the room as Prorok stuttered, saying, “Don’t shoot—Just tell me what you want—”

“Someone’s coming to kill you,” he replied, going to the window to check for other intruders. At this, Prorok stood up from the bed, half-naked and looking severely grim. The news didn’t seem to come as a surprise. “I-I don’t know who she is but—”

“She?” Prorok repeated, and suddenly a heavy hand landed on Keith’s shoulder. He looked to the man, nearly forgetting that his uniform never covered his face. That would just get in the way of things. He retracted his hand, startled, “You’re Shirogane’s boy, aren’t you.”

“Where’s the safest place in this house?” Keith demanded. “Your artillery?”

Prorok swallowed hard before turning back to his wife and yanking back the covers. He grabbed her hand as he said, “No, best not to hide in a place filled with weapons that could be used against you. There’s a safe room in the basement, but—”

He hesitated, grabbing Keith by the arm and forcing him to look Prorok directly in the eyes. “—Keith, get out of here. _Now_.”

Keith nodded fast, arm dropping to his side as Prorok hurried his wife to the door. Keith followed after them, only to fall back when someone shouted. Prorok pushed his wife back to Keith, and they both staggered back, tripping over the rug. He fell onto the floor, cushioning Lady Prorok’s fall. She sat on the floor, trembling, as they heard Prorok say, “Haggar, please, it was a misunderstanding—”

“Misunderstandings are a threat to our King. Do you not care for his _safety_ , the safety _I_ procure?!” the raspy voice of that woman screamed, scratching against Keith’s eardrums. He scrambled up, pulling Prorok’s wife away by the arm. Her feet scuffed on the carpet as she followed Keith to the nearest closet. 

The door to the room hit the wall _hard_. A painting shattered to the ground in the time it took for Prorok to collapse to the floor, lifting himself onto his feet. Keith slammed his back against the closet door, Prorok’s wife safely inside. It took longer for Keith to throw up a filter, but managed to do so just as a scream erupted from Prorok’s mouth, gargling, turning into a low whistle—like someone popped a hole into his vocal chords.

Keith’s chest tensed as something twisted Prorok onto his back, feet kicking. His legs flew up into the air, dangling him upside down above the open entrance to the bedroom. His outstretched arms stopped in motion, and that same, breathy whistle escaped him as his hands were pulled, and his head arched back.

He was breathing so hard. Keith’s hands gripped the edges of the closet door, and it was all he could do to remain invisible as the white-haired woman—Haggar—stepped into the room at last. She lifted a clawed fingernail, and pressed it to the skin of Prorok’s shoulder. She dragged it down, and the voiceless scream reverberated through Keith’s very bones. He shook as the arm Haggar tugged on came completely loose—there wasn’t even any blood.

“As much as I’d love to improve you… you would still be a liability to the King. The mind is far more difficult to tamper with than the body,” Haggar said, and ripped Prorok’s other arm from his body. Keith clasped his hands over his mouth, pressing himself to the closet door as the entire body fell from the air, and collapsed in front of Haggar. 

She bent down and picked up one of the arms. She flopped the hand around for a moment before tossing it and leaving the room. Before she disappeared completely, she looked around the room, until her eyes landed on Keith. And then she was gone.

It took several minutes for Keith to find his voice. He stared at Prorok’s body, and stepped away from the closet. “Stay where you are,” Keith croaked, pressing a hand to the door before heading over to the figure lying on the ground.

He tore off the sheets from the bed and laid them out on the ground. He laid Prorok’s arms on the cloth, and as he heaved up his torso, a sound thumped into a nearby room. Keith hurriedly dragged the body to the sheet, but not before a silhouette appeared in the doorway.

“Oh my God—”

Keith’s eyes bolted up to where Sylvester stood in the doorway, pale as a ghost. Their eyes locked, and Keith floundered for something to say. “Th-This isn’t what it looks like?” Keith said, unconvincingly.

The closet door opened instantly, and Sylvester jumped at the sound. “Mom—h-he—” the man stammered, tearing up at the sight of his mother’s face, swollen from crying silently. Then, Sylvester turned to Keith, eyes murderous. “You killed him.”

“That’s kind of a rash judgem—” 

Keith jumped away from the body as Sylvester came for him. The man screamed profanities at him, and grabbed hold of the back of Keith’s cloak. He choked on it, falling back. The man worked fast in slamming down punches to Keith’s face before he was finally able to get out of Sylvester’s hold. He twisted out of the way of Sylvester’s fist as it came down, and grabbed onto it as it retracted. He dragged Sylvester to the ground as his mother screamed for them to stop.

Keith slammed his fist onto Sylvester’s stomach, causing the man to coil into it, to catch his breath. He then rammed his forearm against Sylvester’s throat, pinning him back on the ground. “Stop it! Please!” Prorok’s wife screamed, sobbing.

“Y-You killed—” Sylvester choked out, clawing at the fabric covering Keith’s scars, and scraping his hand against his shoulder, feebly, as he lost breath. 

Keith pressed harder for a second before pulling back, grabbing the man by the head, and slamming it back onto the floor. His mother shrieked, because that time Sylvester wasn’t conscious to fight back.

He sat back for the split second it took to regain his breath. “H-He’s fine. I just knocked him out,” Keith insisted, and began floundering around his waistband for his poisons pouch. His hand skimmed over the letter he took from Sendak.

“Wh-What are you going to do to him? Please don’t kill him, p-please,” Prorok’s wife begged, dropping to her knees beside her husband. Keith looked over at her, curled over Prorok’s chest crying.

“Just amnesia. He won’t remember seeing me, or… his father like this,” Keith said, and quickly filtered through the three poisons he kept on him. He popped the cap on one and tipped it into Sylvester’s open mouth. He then stood up and look at Prorok’s wife. She rubbed her eyes on a handkerchief in her nightgown pocket, and looked up at him. His tongue felt dry and thick in his mouth, like cotton. “I’m going to put your son in his room—he’ll wake up like any other day. What do you want me to do with Prorok’s body?”

Her breath hitched, and she said, “Leave my husband here, please. I-I will take care of him. Y-You should go.”

Keith nodded, and bent down to sling Sylvester’s limb arm over his shoulder. He dragged the man up and was surprised by how light his body was—the man was fully grown, and nearly Shiro’s size.

He carried the man down the hall and through his open bedroom door. He flopped Sylvester onto the bed and after a second of hesitation, he yanked the covers over him.

  


  


Keith collapsed through his bedroom window and stayed there until morning when one of the maids came in to check on him. Usually he was up early, and when he didn’t wake up straight away it seemed like Shiro was nervous. The maid came in, and shrieked at the sight of Keith on the ground instead of his bed, still dressed in his uniform. 

“M-Master Shirogane!” the maid screamed, running out the door to fetch him. 

Keith squinted at the light, groaning as he heaved himself up onto his hands and knees. His head throbbed like a hangover, and before he could get a decent look at himself in the mirror, the maid was back, and this time with Shiro.

“Keith! What the hell happened to you?” he demanded, running over and grabbing him by either side of the face. He scoured all over the bruises there—they weren’t terrible, but _damn_ did they hurt. It’d been a while since Keith had a black eye. “Do you need a nurse?”

“No, it’s… just my face,” he said. He breathed in shakily before saying, “I-I need to talk to Coran. I didn’t even think about that last night—I just came back here. Could I get a car to the city?” he asked, wincing as each word seem to cause the bruises to swell even more.

Shiro looked over to the maid and back at Keith before telling her, “Prepare some food for Keith. Bring it up here—he’ll be recovering in bed today.”

“I don’t _need_ to recover,” Keith countered, shoving him away. “I _need_ to see Coran!”

Shiro dismissed the maid, and the second she closed the door, he demanded, “Tell me what happened. Coran can wait.”

“No—you don’t understand—”

“Keith,” he said, voice shaking. “Whatever happened, you can tell me. Allura assigned you to me because I can help you, too. I am as much apart of everything you do as Coran is.”

Keith stared at him, and fidgeted until he was finally able to find his voice. He ran his hands through his hair before saying, voice quiet, “Prorok is dead. I tried to stop it from happening b-but this _woman_ came in and—and she barely even touched him! It was like—like _magic_.”

“Who was it? Did you catch a name?” Shiro asked.

“H-Haggar, I think. She works for the King. She visited Sendak first—he’ll be Commander now that Prorok is gone. I had to drug Sylvester because he thought I killed his father, a-and—”

“Did anyone else see you?” he demanded, and Keith swallowed hard, pinching his fingers together. “Keith, tell me.”

His brows furrowed together, and he bit his lip before saying, “I-I helped Prorok’s wife. She saw the entire thing, except f-for when Haggar killed Prorok. She was in the closet. She won’t tell anyone! I swear—sh-she knows I saved her—”

He could see Shiro’s disappointment before the man even voiced it. Keith pressed his hands to his face, breathing hard. “I—I couldn’t have killed her o-or—she didn’t do anything _wrong_. She wasn’t attacking me l-like Sylvester—”

He felt Shiro’s hands against his wrists, so he looked up and found that disappointed expression had vanished. Shiro just looked… concerned. “Keith, I don’t blame you. We’ll figure it out. You don’t have to kill anyone you don’t want to, and I agree, Prorok’s wife is innocent. I’m glad you saved her.”

Keith choked on a relieved sob, and pressed his head to Shiro’s chest. After a short hug, Keith pulled away and rubbed his face clear, careful of the bruising. Shiro rubbed his hair, a moment before a knock sounded on the door and the maid returned.

“Sir, there’s someone here to see you,” she reported.

“Tell them I’ll be right down,” he requested, and as she left, he turned to Keith and said, “Get changed. We’ll talk about visiting Coran later.”

He nodded quickly and waited until Shiro left to tug off his cloak and undress. He folded up his clothes, and the waistband, and carefully hid them in the back of his wardrobe. He tugged on his most comfortable dress shirt and pants that looked a lot like the sort Pidge wore—high-waisted with an elastic waist, and loose ankles. When he walked out the door, he wasn’t surprised to find Pidge standing there, jumping back from where she’d been listening to his door.

“I dropped something and was picking it up,” Pidge said, clasping her hands behind her.

“I know you were eavesdropping. I just don’t know how long for,” he said, ignoring the shock on her face when she gathered that his face didn’t look like that the day before.

Mouth slightly ajar, she stared after him until realizing that she was being left behind. “Just before Shiro left, I promise. What’s going on? Why’s it look like you had a knuckle-sandwich for breakfast?”

Keith scoffed, approaching the staircase that faced the foyer. Pidge whined for him to give her the details, but hesitated when they heard a faint, “Please, Takashi, let me speak to your son.”

Shiro spoke quietly, and nothing could be picked up apart from the subtle murmuring except for the woman’s faint sniffling. Pidge looked at Keith with wide eyes, and he nearly debated making a run for it. He _really_ didn’t want to talk to Lady Prorok any more than necessary.

Unfortunately, though, he seemed to be in view and hadn’t even noticed it.

They were standing off to the side, closer to the dining hall, and through the rungs of the railing she spotted Keith and started running towards the stairs. Shiro called out after her, but she was already coming up the steps. Pidge squeaked a little, and tried to yank on Keith’s arm as if to save him from being flattened to the ground. 

He stayed grounded, though, even when Prorok’s wife threw her arms around him and pressed her red cheeks to his hair. She was a little shorter than him, which required him to bend down to her level. She sobbed against him, practically petting the top of his head. Over her shoulder he stared, wide-eyed, and Pidge. “I felt it necessary t-to stop by today. I was making a-arrangements for the funeral, so I was in the neighborhood,” Lady Prorok said, blubbering as she pulled away and held her handkerchief over her mouth.

“It’s no problem,” Keith said, still staring owlishly at her.

“You didn’t have to warn us, but _you did_ ,” she said. “If it weren’t for you, I would be dead right now, and I wouldn’t be thanking you. You are such a great boy, I don’t see why Sylvester held a grudge. I would also like to apologize on his behalf, for the state of your… face. He doesn’t know, of course. You took care of him very nicely—though, the bruises on his throat haven’t gone away.” 

Keith nearly told her that what he did wouldn’t have bruised Sylvester’s throat, but then remembered—Sylvester was over at Sendak’s manor before the incident. Lady Prorok didn’t need to know that.

He touched a finger to his eye and shook his head, “It’s fine, ma’am. Thank you, though. And also you’re welcome.”

Shiro stepped up behind them, so Keith turned to him. He offered a hand to Lady Prorok, and she took it. “We appreciate you coming over here, but it’d be best if you stayed away from us for a while. By the sound of it, the King will have eyes and ears on you from now on—it’s best that you stay under the radar. Please don’t feel obligated to invite us to the funeral. We don’t want to involve anyone else in this business… Do you understand?”

“I do, thank you, Takashi,” she said, patting his arm as he guided her down the stairs. Shiro glanced up at Keith, who was still recovering from the fact that…

_Did I just make a friend?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone had a lovely Saturday! I got home and was too exhausted to do much of anything. I think it was the first day in a REALLY long time that I didn't write. 
> 
> I want to get more Klance stuff going when they're like eighteenish? Because that seems like a decent age to start physical romance but I still have to figure out how to incorporate that into the plot I have going on... hm. Keith is just too busy rn to be bothered with romance, don't you think? I also feel like he really needs to kick someone or something. He hasn't really fought anyone in a while, since Sylvester doesn't really count.
> 
> Next chapter will be all about Keith's birthday party! Yaaayyy... Of course nothing BAD could come of THAT *wink wink nudge nudge*


	8. Party Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith goes shopping with Lance and Pidge, is drugged by Hunk, and in response, drugs Lance.

Keith turned sixteen—at least, that’s what they told everyone. The Garretts were the first to inquire about it. Evidently birthdays were an ordeal for them, and they offered to help with arrangements. Shiro was put on the spot, and claimed it was two weeks from then. So, essentially, it was thanks to the Garretts that Keith ever officially turned sixteen.

Lance offered to help with deciding on Keith’s outfit. They went to the city with Pidge, who Keith failed to inform about the development between him and Lance. He figured she spent enough time eavesdropping that she must have picked it up from Shiro one of those days.

So when Lance linked their hands together, Keith looked at Pidge and she looked at them, at Keith, and then pursed her lips as she looked the other way, trying not to grin devilishly. He glared at her for it. He could already see the gears turning in her head, formulating even more ridiculous blackmail.

They stepped into a high-end menswear store, and were whisked around the store for a brief overview of the content. Keith let Lance lead him around in hopes that the boy knew more about fashion than he did. Pidge just seemed intent on gathering intel on the two of them, not so much there for support.

“I still think you look great in red,” Lance said, tugging out a suit made of deep red, nearly black fabric. “And this color with a golden vest underneath, and that pin right here.” He pointed to the space opposite the chest pocket, where the rose pin would go.

“Gold as in…?” Keith drawled, raising his eyebrows.

“Like, shimmery. Not just flat fabric—like this material here.” Lance yanked out a shirt from the rack on the wall as an example. 

“It’s a bit flashy,” Pidge commented. “Keith isn’t into flashy.”

“Fine then,” he pouted, putting the shirt back. “White undershirt.”

“Black,” she argued, and looked to Keith for confirmation. “He doesn’t wear white, you know. Have you even _seen_ his wardrobe?”

Lance put his nose up and said, “It’ll be a change. He’s _supposed_ to stand out.”

“I don’t really like standing out,” Keith murmured, and purposefully kept his eyes on the suit rack so he wouldn’t have to see what Lance looked like then. “I don’t really want the party to be all about me. It’ll just be for fun.”

“But it’s your _birthday_ ,” Lance exclaimed, stuffing the jacket back to grab Keith’s arm with both his hands. “It’s _supposed_ to be about you! Birthdays are, like, the one time in the whole year where everyone gets together to celebrate _you_.”

“I don’t want people to,” Keith whispered. He reached a hand up to pull out the suit again. “I like this though.”

Lance recovered quickly—he was good at that. He was good at navigating conversations, and perhaps that was what made Keith so comfortable around him. He didn’t have to worry constantly about what he said, because Lance had enough conversation for the both of them. “Alright, then we’ll try Pidge’s idea with the black dress shirt—you probably don’t even need a vest, but you should try on a matching maroon one—something that has the same value as the suit, probably.”

One of the workers helped hang Keith’s shirts up in the dress room and he changed on his own. He stepped out to the whistles from Pidge, and an appreciative hum from Lance.

“You look too old for me like that,” Lance said, and Keith frowned. “But in the best way. Mature, or whatever.”

“Oh come on, he doesn’t look _old_ ,” Pidge giggled.

“I didn’t say he looked old—I meant _mature_. Stop twisting my words, Katie!” Lance whined, only to have his nose tweaked by her. He squeaked and slapped his hands over his face. Keith laughed at them as he walked over to the floor length mirror and tugged at the opening of the suit. He liked it. He liked it a lot. 

  


  


More people were invited to the party than Keith expected. He didn’t think Shiro would actually _use_ the entire dining hall for it, _and_ the festivities hall on the northern side of the house. It was two stories, and faced the front of the house with massive, gridded windows, and a balcony on the second floor, overlooking the dance floor, or whatever that area was meant to be used for. It was a modest size, and with that entire half of the house open for the party, it was a place where the visitors congregated. 

Keith spent a lot of his time exhausting his social abilities on the guests. Shiro insisted he talk to everyone, even the people he knew hated him, or the people he knew far too much about. Sendak’s daughters were there, as were the Proroks. Sylvester kept to the outskirts, looking grave and hardly enjoying himself. Giving him condolences was perhaps the most awkward thing Keith had to do that night, though Lady Prorok saved him, and introduced him to several of her good friends—including but not limited to Sendak’s wife. She was kind enough to Keith, but her resting-bitch-face was enough to ward away people.

“I’m surprised you’re still standing,” Hunk commented, swinging over to Keith’s side later that night after a rather… _exhausting_ dance session with Lance’s youngest sister. She disappeared into the crowd, waving enthusiastically at him until she was out of sight. 

“I’m never waking up after this,” Keith sighed, leaning against the window sill. It was dark out, and the glass was chilly against his back.

Hunk passed him a glass, and to his great surprise it was sweet and warm and fluttered against his insides. “What is this?” he asked.

“Hot cider with _lots_ of sugar. You like it?” Hunk asked, leaning against the wall as Keith downed a few more gulps and nodded. “Oh good—they just brought it out. You want some more?” Again, another breathless nod. Hunk laughed and set his glass down before leaving to fetch another. 

In his absence, Pidge jumped onto the ledge and took Hunk’s glass, and downed the rest of his drink. She stuck out her tongue and said, “Blah, spiked cider.”

“Is mine spiked?” Keith squeaked, looking down at his near-empty glass. She leaned over and sniffed it, and shook her head.

“For someone who studies poisons, you should really know the scent of the most common poison— _alcohol_.” She tipped Hunk’s glass at him before setting it down.

“Aren’t you, like, twelve, or something?” he said, quirking an eyebrow at her as she shrugged and muttered, “That’s society’s illusion, I suppose. Categorizing us by numbers and all. Kind of an abstract concept, if you ask me.”

Keith lifted up the glass and squinted through the warped surface. “What the hell was in this?” he murmured. 

The glass was suddenly swiped out of his hands and replaced by the grinning, sun-kissed face of Lance. His puppy eyes were massive, dazzling, even. “What are you two doing all the way over here? What’s this?” He pointed to Keith’s cider and took a sip of it. He released a content hum and handed it back to him. Hip against Keith’s knees, Lance turned to Pidge and said, “Domen’s looking for you. You better hide.”

“Cripes! See you lovebirds later,” she said, leaping from the ledge and ducking between crowds of people. She headed for the back of the hall, and out towards the kitchens.

“That’s one way to get her out of the way,” Lance mused aloud. “I didn’t think it’d work.”

“You lied?” Keith laughed. He hadn’t even caught it, and Lance’s bold grin confirmed it. “I can’t believe you sometimes. You lied to my sister.”

Lance pouted, eyebrows peaking above the bridge of his nose. “Forgive me?” he pleaded, slapping his hand down onto Keith’s thigh. It wasn’t even meant to be affectionate, and instead caused Keith to jump and jab him in the side. Lance howled with laughter, brushing Keith off and escaping several feet away, clutching his side. Keith grabbed for him, and nabbed him by the arm, yanking him back. “I wanted to see your reaction! I swear! And since you hit me, I won’t do it again. You abused me.”

“ _Yeah_ , because you hit me first,” Keith argued, grinning up at Lance. Naturally Lance was the first to experience a growth spurt, and would continually pester Keith about being shorter, even when they would soon be the same height again. 

Lance glanced over his shoulder, and reassuring himself that no one was watching, he darted forward and pressed his lips to Keith’s forehead. It was just for a split second, and managed to shut him up.

“Good. So, I’m gonna go to the chess room. And in like twenty minutes, you’re gonna say you have to go to the restroom, but actually…” Lance said, and his imprudent smile was enough to make Keith laugh.

“Alright, sure. I’ll meet you there,” Keith whispered, nudging him away. Lance gave him one of those shit-eating grins that made him roll his eyes.

Keith couldn’t stop grinning until Hunk returned with another warm glass for him. They sat together and talked until the glass was empty, and Keith excused himself. He gave his glass to one of the caterers, and as he turned back around, he found Lady Prorok there. She offered a winning smile and her arm to hold on to. “Take a walk with me, dear,” she said.

He let himself be escorted out of the hall—closer to the chess room. Maybe five more minutes and he’d excuse himself to the restroom. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Lady Prorok said, hesitantly.

“What is it?” he asked.

She glanced back at the festivities hall, and back at him. “Do you think we could go out for a walk? I don’t want anyone to overhear us.”

He agreed, and as they walked out, he said necessary pleasantries like, “I really appreciate you introducing me to Lady Sendak—she seems like an excellent friend to have.”

“Oh she is, she is,” Lady Prorok said sweetly, patting Keith’s arm as he took her down the steps and into the garden. He glanced over, down the length of the house to where the chess room window was. “You know, I really wish my son liked you more. I feel like you would be an excellent ally.”

Keith hesitated at that, and didn’t say anything. It just made him feel like she was looking to hire an assassin, now that she knew what he did. If her son knew, he didn’t want to think of the consequences. He wondered if blackmail for “killing his father” would be enough to convince Keith to do his bidding. He certainly didn’t want to have to kill Sylvester.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something flash—like a light going out, but all the lampposts were still functioning. They turned the corner around a series of bushes, and Keith was startled to find someone else out in the garden. 

“You may go now, Lady Prorok,” the person said, and Keith’s eyes widened. He’d recognize that raspy voice anywhere—Haggar’s long white hair was hidden behind the hood of her cloak. 

The light came back in time with Haggar’s voice. Keith turned to Lady Prorok, about to push her out of the way, but her _eyes were glowing yellow_. She nodded to Haggar and turned back, and walked off, shaking Keith’s grip off of her arm. He nearly followed after her, but froze at the sound of Haggar addressing him.

“Keith Shirogane,” Haggar said, unmoving from her position, safely hidden between the thickets of bushes. “What track has Allura set you on? Lingering around my business.”

His mind reeled, turning back to her slowly with his hands clasped behind him. He inched a hand underneath the hem of his jacket. “You’re asking the wrong person,” he said. “I don’t know who you are—”

“Don’t _lie_ , boy!” she hissed, and it caused him to flinch. His hand gripped the slim pommel of his knife, fastened to his lower back. “She broke her promise by allowing you to _follow me—_ ”

“I am not following you,” he insisted. “I just—”

“You just _what_? What is it, what game is she playing—sending an imitation after me?” she hissed, and stormed towards him. He staggered back, surprised by the swiftness of her movements—like suddenly she held the shadows at her whim, playing with them as she pleased. 

She appeared before him, hands going for his throat. She didn’t touch him, and he panicked, wondering what it felt like to be Prorok—dragged by the feet up to the ceiling. She didn’t do that with Keith, though. She simply terrified him, standing so close. Her beady yellow eyes narrowed at him, lips pulling back. “Where the hell did she find you?” she seethed.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered, tilting his head away, grimacing as her clawed finger trailed along his jaw. “I-I don’t know—I swear—”

A voice sounded by the door, farther away, and Keith let out a relieved sigh when it led Haggar to step back. She waited until the door closed before snapping her fingers. “Whatever the case—you aren’t worth anything to me if _she’s_ already gotten to you. It’s hard to break Allura’s loyalties,” she said dully, as if disappointed, and drifted away from him—her cloak carrying the shadows with her—

But they left one behind, and it grew with the snap of her fingers coming again. 

Keith scrambled back, staring at the beast that rose up higher than the bushes, towering over him in a swirling mess of darkness. There weren’t eyes to discern its face, its features—but Keith could see the faint outline of a hand reaching for him—spindly fingers clawed like _hers_.

With a scream, he took off running, skidding around the edge of the bushes and turning when a chill swept through his shoulder. He swiped his knife up, severing the shadowy finger. Its hand dissolved like clouds, but it just came for him again, faster this time. 

He skidded away from the chess room—he needed to get the damn thing away, first. He sprinted, thankful for his stamina that kept him going all the way to the river. He skidded over the bridge, and darted down the length of the river. The mass of black clouds spiraled after him, emitting this horrible, haunting sound of wind whirring through an empty room. 

Keith jumped the river—it was easier to do now that he was several years older and more experienced with jumping far distances. He scrambled onto the other side, and glanced over his shoulder to see the figure dipping down into the water—it couldn’t leave the ground for the life of it—and recoiled back onto the other side.

It paced the length of the riverbank—it’d only be a matter of time before it figured out that it could only cross by the bridge. His heart leapt with excitement—this was his chance.

He ran through the garden, the yard, and practically slammed into the chess room window. He could see Lance in there, jumping at the sound. He hammered on the window looking back in time to see the mass of shadows climbing higher—angrier—furious at being trapped. But it looked like it was _coming this way_.

“Open it! Open it!” Keith shouted.

“I’m trying! Yeesh, what’s the ru—shit!” Lance shrieked, seeing the dilemma and now frantically undoing the latch. 

Lance pushed the window out, and Keith took a running start and barreled through. He skidded onto the ground, leaping back to yank the window shut, just seconds before the shadow swept up to it and sent a cloud of frost fracturing across the glass. Keith locked the window, breathing hard, and slammed his knife down onto the ledge. 

They stood, listening to the ice cover the windows in white until the darkness could no longer be seen. The only light in the room was the one lamp Lance turned on before Keith showed up.

_How the hell am I going to explain the state of these windows to Shiro?_ Keith whined internally, hands going to his face.

Keith picked up his knife, lifted the back of his shirt, and slipped it into the sheath. Lance leaned back to see it, but Keith was already tucking his shirt back in. “You just… keep a knife there? All the time?” Lance questioned, raising an eyebrow. 

He glanced sparingly at Lance and turned away. “I-I should probably tell Shiro about this,” he said, but was stopped by Lance’s hand tugging on his own, pulling him back to where he could see the eerie whiteness outside the windows.

“Could you maybe tell me first?” Lance asked. 

Keith hesitated, and it was just enough time for them to be interrupted by someone crashing in through the chess room door. Keith had his knife out in an instant, only to be reprimanded for it— 

“Whoop, careful now, boy,” the voice was comical, and awfully familiar. Lance shrieked as fiery-haired man swept straight over the couch separating them, shoved Keith away, and grabbed Lance by the shirt. 

“Coran—don’t—” Keith shouted, but Coran had already slammed Lance’s forehead with the heel of his palm and said, “Sleepy time!”

Lance dropped instantly, eyes still partially open. Coran snapped his fingers at Keith, and he knew instantly what the man meant to do. “What-? No! I’m not wiping his memory!” he whined.

“He just won’t remember the last twenty minutes—it’ll be fine,” he said. “It’s in my back pocket—I’m busy holding up this young lad.”

Keith groaned, and grumpily marched over and stuffed his hand in Coran’s back pocket. He popped the cap on it and passed it to Coran, not looking at them as he tipped it into Lance’s open mouth and passed the empty bottle back. “How’d you know we were in here?” Keith asked.

“If you haven’t noticed by now, I watch the place daily—Allura’s orders. Just because I’m retired doesn’t mean I can’t spend my time spying on you,” he said, and Keith let out a roar of frustration. Of _course_ he was being watched! What a perfect addition to his day! “Relax, boy, I’m mostly around whenever you have guests, or parties—stuff like that.”

Keith was quiet for a moment, watching Coran lay Lance down on the couch. As the man brushed off his sleeves, Keith said, “Then did you see Haggar?”

“No, no. She has her ways of getting around without being seen. That was a bit of a surprise, wasn’t it? Incredibly entertaining, wouldn’t you say? I remember one time when Allura was younger, she provided the entertainment for a men’s-only gala with a cocktail reception and everything! Everything was going _great_ , until—”

“That sounds excellent, but what do we do about the shadow?” Keith asked, raising his voice to interrupt the story.

“Oh that? Don’t even worry about it. It only exists as long as Haggar is near. It should fade soon.”

“How soon? There’s a _party_ going on—what if people want to leave?” Keith argued, but Coran just brushed it off casually. “Coran!”

“It will be _fine_. It wants you, not them, so as long as you stay here, it won’t move. I’ll worry about preventing people from leaving out the back door. Shouldn’t be too hard,” he said.

Keith groaned furiously after Coran left the room. He threw his hands up into his hair and stared at the frosted windows, and then back at Lance. Something about wiping Lance’s memories didn’t feel right. It wasn’t something he should be messing with at all—memories were important to people, but he could understand Coran’s reasoning. This protected Keith from exposure, it protected Lance from certain trauma—so he tried to convince himself that this was all right.

It didn’t change the fact that Keith _wanted_ to tell Lance what was going on, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CORAN YOU SAUCY DEVIL.
> 
> Tell me what you think about Haggar in the comments! Throw your theories at me, I love to hear about them. Lmao if you could make it sound ridiculous like my chapter summaries, that would be HILARIOUS.


	9. Glamorous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith crushes on Allura, Shiro sasses some peeps, and Coran shows us what the meaning of life really is.

Keith laid on the couch long after the frost started to fade from the window. It was deep enough to fit both Keith and Lance, and if anyone looked into the room, they weren’t even in view. It was perfectly secluded from the party.

The frost was almost completely gone by the time Lance stirred in his sleep. Keith dropped his hand from where he’d been combing through Lance’s hair. He felt Lance tense for a moment, before opening his eyes and realizing that he was in Keith’s arms. His sleepy eyes flickered up to Keith’s, and he smiled. 

“Did I fall asleep?” Lance asked drearily, raising up to his elbow and squinting around the room. Keith had turned off the lamp a while ago, so it was dark except for the lampposts outside, and the bluish moonlight. 

“Yeah—I was pretty exhausted from dancing so… here we are,” Keith explained, tipping his head to the side as Lance turned back to him. 

He braced his other hand against the back of the couch and leaned over Keith. He bumped their noses together, and it became hard to see where the shadows ended and Lance started. He wasn’t sure if Lance could even see his eyes.

“I must have been pretty exhausted then, too, because I don’t even remember you coming in here,” Lance said, laughing lightly. “Did we kiss yet?”

Keith shook his head, gulping down his excitement in fear that it’d somehow show through the darkness. Lance tipped his head, their noses no longer touching. The lack of contact was made up for the fact that their lips soon grazed against one another. Keith tipped his chin up, pressing close enough so no air was left between their mouths, and Lance released the last of his breath in a content sigh. 

His hand threaded through Lance’s short brown hair and held him close, even when they pulled back for air, and Lance pressed his lips continuously to Keith’s cheeks and nose, jaw and forehead. He giggled, eyes scrunching closed. Lance kissed those too, saying between them, “I—hope—you—had—an _awesome_ —birthday.”

Keith put a hand to Lance’s face and pushed him off, chuckling as he lifted himself up onto an elbow, meeting Lance at eye-level. “I did,” he said. “I had an awesome birthday.”

  


  


“This is an invitation,” Allura said, sliding an envelope to Keith from over Shiro’s desk. He took it up, recognizing it as the same envelope he took from Sendak, and relayed to Coran. “To attend a council meeting.”

“What for?” Keith asked, eyes narrowing as he opened the page. Shiro peered over his shoulder at it, and finished reading first.

“The arrangements were made before Prorok’s assassination—it’s likely Sendak will be appointed at the meeting as Prorok’s successor to the position. And it wouldn’t be seen as a coincidence at all—Sendak has likely been apart of these meetings nearly as long as Prorok. The King has always favored him,” Shiro said, pressing a hand to his temple, and glancing at Allura. She leant back in his chair, her long legs propped onto the wooden surface. 

She lowered her steepled hands and said, “They’ll most likely be discussing a favorite topic of theirs—it hasn’t come up in a while, but after what happened with Haggar I cannot say whether or not she’ll relay the events to the King. Her loyalties were always a bit unclear…”

“What do you mean? Did she used to work for you?” Keith asked, eyes wide as he turned sharply to her, setting the paper down. He still couldn’t stand to read as fast as Shiro anyway. 

Allura pursed her lips, brows furrowed. “No, I wouldn’t say that. We were on relatively the same playing field, you see. The world we live in—specifically, this kingdom—is divided by several powerful forces all under the guise of the King, who claims he has all the power. But just as we the people give him power, we also receive it in return. A king wouldn’t be a king without unlawful forces at hand,” she explained. “I would go as far to say that he isn’t in control at all. We make him think so, yes, because if we blatantly show him he isn’t—well, let’s just say fear causes men to do crazy, unexpected things. And Zarkon is someone we _don’t_ want to see fear from.

“So, it would be safe to say that aside from Zarkon, the ‘unlawful’ of us who control the people more than he cares to admit would have to be myself, Rax, and Haggar. In the current state of things, specifically what you call the slums, I gain profit, and the people profit _from_ me, as a way to… forget about their worries for a while. I pride myself on providing entertainment to a rather bleak outlook, wouldn’t you say? 

“As for Rax, well, his entertainment is through the drug cartel. My business is somewhat within the law—I dabble in other things as well, such as… well, you for example—but Rax is out of the box. Zarkon has been after him since the moment Rax’s father died—but that was a poor decision on his part. Rax was controlling things behind the pretense of his father for nearly five years before his father was killed. Zarkon had nothing to do with it—that’s just how their business works. 

“And then Haggar…” at this, Allura sighed, dragging a finger down her cheek, and resting it on her chin. “She’s a bit more difficult, you see. It started as a cult following, and just expanded from there when her techniques were believed to be true. In actuality, there aren’t all that many sorcerers around these days. Their power isn’t anything like it could have been, back in the days before Zarkon’s great-grandfather massacred the remaining ones.”

“So sorcery is real?” he gasped, though he wondered why he didn’t feel thrilled by it. Hearing all those legends and tales from kids in the gang surely would have made this revelation more… _exciting_. He figured his encounter with the shadow beast muddled his appreciation for it.

“Yes, unfortunately so. It was nice, for a while, having Haggar on my side. But no one is ever _truly_ on my side, especially sorcerers. They don’t take too kindly to people like me—most people don’t notice it much. I can’t imagine you’ve picked it out, since you had never heard of mimicry before,” she said, sounding a bit put out by the news. She glanced at Shiro and that facade faltered. “Except you.”

“I don’t blame you for it,” Shiro countered, scowling. 

“Sure looks like you do,” she mused aloud, adjusting in her seat to lower her legs. “It’s called a glamour. It’s a sub-grouping of sorcerers, just thought to be a pretty face and overall good looks. It’s subtle, and uncontrollable by the user. Makes little things easier in life—talking my way out of things, convincing people, persuasion, and it makes others relatively… flexible, in their views. Again, very subtle. Most don’t notice it, unless they have experience with sorcery, or otherwise.”

Keith tried not to stare at her, realizing quickly what that meant. All those times he couldn’t stop staring—his idiotic childish crush—it was all natural because of her glamour. He tried not to think too deeply about it, wondering if it was really as subtle as she said it was. Did he only like her because of the glamour’s effects? Was the sole reason he worked for her— _killed_ for her—because of her glamour? 

But he hated Rollo. He killed Rollo because he wanted to, and Allura’s encouragement just sealed the deal. 

He took a seat, raising his eyes after a moment to say, “So Haggar doesn’t like you because of the glamour?”

“Partially, yes. We had some challenges and such back in the day,” she explained. “And then her large following was noticed by King Zarkon. He got in contact with her, hired her and all her working sorcerers, and the rest is history.”

“But it isn’t,” he argued, leaning forward in his chair. “She sounded familiar—does she still associate with you and Rax? What about Coran?” 

“She still claims to be working independently—working for Zarkon being something of a… cover to keep him in check. Though, it’s unnerving simply because she cares only for her cult following. She couldn’t care less about the people in the slums or the city who aren’t like her—which is the majority, if not _entirity_ of the city,” she explained.

“On top of that, we have only the slightest idea as to why Zarkon commissioned Haggar and her cultists,” Shiro added. “Suffice to say Haggar doesn’t truly know who Keith is—she attempted to have him killed.”

“No one _would_. And on top of it, mimics are rare to begin with. There aren’t many options in terms of them—so we have to assume she’s told the King about him.”

“But… I don’t think she has,” Keith spoke up, and looked between them with his owlish eyes. “Sure, she killed Prorok on the King’s orders—but that was also her own decision. She saw me, and decided not to kill me because she didn’t know who I was. She must have found out, hypnotized Lady Prorok—with the weird, glowy-eye thing—but… that doesn’t explain how she knew I was associated with you.”

“She was there the night I brought you back,” Allura murmured, “They knew I was on the hunt for a mimic, even before Haggar began working for Zarkon. Upon hearing the news from Rollo, it was fair to assume she’d show up to see for herself.”

“She must have eyes on you as well—how else would she have known he came here?” Shiro said, and this news seemed to disturb her into further silence. “She’ll see he isn’t dead—she wouldn’t kill you, would she? Is it dangerous for you to be here?”

“If anything, it’s dangerous for you to be housing Keith here, if Haggar is on his tracks,” she said, tsking.

Keith thought about what Haggar had said, about his loyalties. _Loyalties with Allura are hard to break—well, at least I know what that means now_ , he thought. It wasn’t hard to remind himself that Allura was beautiful, and now it wasn’t hard to catch himself and ask—was that just an effect of the glamour?

“If you survived once, she’ll be back again. Whether or not she’s interested in killing you is another story—either way she wouldn’t risk taking out Shiro. He’s adored by many, no need to cause an uproar.”

“Har har,” Shiro muttered, and she smiled back, tongue between her teeth. “Is there some place he could go, until he’s off Haggar’s radar?”

“He’ll never be off her radar. He’s a mimic—he’s valuable, and even if he wasn’t a mimic he’d still be valuable to the King,” she said.

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“Because you’re a key to me,” she said quickly, leaning back. “You know more about me than most people—which is really saying something.”

“But I don’t—”

“But he’ll think you do, and that’s all that matters to him,” she insisted, and promptly changed the subject. “You’ll have to be prepared for meeting Haggar again. I’ll have Coran whip up something, in case she pulls a stunt like that… _shadow beast_ again. I’m surprised your windows are so sturdy, Shiro. I bet you could do a whole lot of things against them—”

“ _Please_ don’t go there,” he groaned as Allura stood up from the seat, throwing her head back and letting out a gleeful laugh. “Don’t insinuate things around my son. I don’t want him to get any ideas.”

“Oh, quit being a stiff. He’s spent more time in a brothel than you ever have, I’m sure—actually, I am sure. Because I own the brothels you _would have visited_ if you ever visited,” she said, and pouted at him as she passed. Her hand trailed along Keith’s shoulder, encouraging him to follow. “Visit me some time!”

“Never in my life,” they heard Shiro mutter under his breath. 

Once the door shut behind them, Allura sighed lightly, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she said, “I was sort of hoping he’d take me up on my offer. Ah, well, always next time.”

“I thought you said he exhausted you.”

“In more ways that one—oh, wait, no insinuating around you. My apologies, my little bird,” she said, arm falling over his shoulders. He tried not to shudder when he realized what she meant. “Aside from that, though, this all just means we’ll have to be quicker about our work. We’ll need to take care of Sendak before he takes care of us.”

“What makes you think he’s after us?” Keith asked. 

“Something you should know about Sendak—he’s a friend of Shiro’s, correct?” she commented, and Keith hesitated before nodding. He couldn’t remember how many times Sendak visited—it wasn’t often enough to be considered “friends” like Dean McClain and Shiro, but every now and then Shiro visited the Sendak manor for one reason or another, or no reason at all. Evidently, according to Pidge, they liked to smoke cigars and drink socially. 

“Yes, so long as they don’t discuss politics,” Keith said, brows furrowing. “He wouldn’t… _do anything_ to harm Shiro, would he?”

“As a commander for the King, Sendak is required to secure the King’s loyalties through any means necessary. Shiro has already been threatened—was on the King’s radar at one point, but not anymore. The Commander has been known to… _eliminate_ people who have threatened the King. Shiro didn’t threaten the King, though. We know that simply because he’s alive.”

They reached the end of the hallway when they paused at the sound of Shiro’s voice behind them—at the open entrance to his office. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t share your side of the story with him. I specifically _told you—_ ”

“I haven’t told him,” she retorted, openly glaring at him as she faced him. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t _assume things of me_.”

“What happened has _nothing_ to do with Sendak—if anything it’s cynical of you to assume the worst of him,” he seethed, shoulders tense as he started for them. Keith stared at him, and then at Allura as her lips pulled back into a sneer. “On top of it, you still treat me as if none of it was my fault—you have always lacked the slightest notion of empathy. The fact that you treat Keith like your _slave_ is proof of that.”

“I would _never_ treat him poorly—”

“Yes, well, killing a man doesn’t exactly improve the mentality of a thirteen-year-old boy, now does it,” Shiro hissed, close enough to jab a finger at her chest. “ _You_ weren’t the one to see the backlash of it. Keith wasn’t _born_ a killer like your hitman.”

She grabbed his wrist and shoved him back. Keith wasn’t sure who he should have been protecting, and his instincts went straight for Allura—but on second-thought, he wondered if that was just simply because of her glamour—

He didn’t want to second guess things like this.

“Please don’t—” he started weakly, but wasn’t heard over Allura shouting at Shiro.

“ _You_ didn’t kill your wife! _You_ are in pain because _you_ want to be! Zarkon killed her, not you. And he _will_ kill you, or Pidge, if it means taking out a threat to the crown. I am trying to _protect you_ before that happens. It isn’t a matter of whether or not Sendak wants to—he’ll do it because Zarkon told him to—”

“Get out of my house!” he screamed, face red. Allura didn’t even flinch, but her expression swiftly went blank. Shiro panted fast, his fists unclenching. Keith had never seen him snap like that before, but it only seemed to last a split second before Shiro turned away, hands in his hair. 

“I’ll just… be going now,” Allura whispered, reaching a hand as if to pull Keith along with her. She paused, recoiling it with a simple, “I’m sorry, my bird.”

Keith wasn’t sure why, but his face felt hot. He felt his eyes swell like that strangled feeling in the back of his throat as Allura walked away and trotted quickly down the stairs. Shiro was already walking away from him, and the thought of Zarkon wanting to kill Shiro, or Pidge, _terrified_ him beyond belief.

His feet moved on their own accord—fast, and not stopping until he slammed his weight against Shiro’s back and held him with all his might. Shiro’s footsteps faltered, and eventually his hands fell around Keith’s, which were tight around his torso. 

“I-I’m sorry. About your wife,” Keith murmured against Shiro’s shirt. “I don’t want that to happen to you or Pidge. I don’t want Zarkon to hurt you.”

“He won’t hurt me, Keith. You have to understand—Zarkon has nothing against me if Haggar hasn’t told him about you—”

“But if she _has_ —I’m a liability to you and Pidge. Is it because I-I’m an imitation? Is that why he wants to hurt you?” he stammered, his fingers latching on to the fabric of Shiro’s shirt. His father soothed his hands over Keith’s tense knuckles, and gently pried them free. Keith sucked in a shaky breath as Shiro turned to face him, clasping their hands together.

“It will be fine, Keith,” Shiro promised, tightening his grip around Keith’s hands. “I would never turn you away simply because… of _Zarkon_. You are my _son_ , do you understand that? I want you here, by my side. It may be hard for you to believe, but I genuinely care about you—as does Pidge.” 

Keith laughed as Shiro quirked a smile. His laugh sounded like a cry for help, and he swiftly muffled it in the front of Shiro’s shirt. “I’m your son,” Keith repeated, which just seemed to elicit a chuckle from Shiro.

  


  


Takashi Shirogane had, at one point, been in a closer radius to the King’s circle of trusted associates. Most of the King’s associates were rather cautious about their suggestions—the King was known for making his own decisions, with very little suggested _to_ him. The council meetings provided little adjustments here and there when the discussions came to that. He was the ring leader, and Shiro questioned it. Refused to do what the King requested.

Retract the promises he’d made to the people, among other vows. 

It was silly, thinking of it now—but at the time he was opposed to the phrase that said that “ends justify the means”. He couldn’t justify ruining the King’s daughter’s life for the greater good at that time.

Royal marriages were always ridiculously fickle anyways. Shiro had been just close enough to see what sort of marriage came without love—the Queen was a sentiment to that. At the time he couldn’t bare to see the Princess in that same state, but now… she would hardly be anything like the Queen. She was more like her father than anything, and would be the upper hand in the end. She was given the right to rule, not whatever husband she married. 

“She couldn’t love, that was the problem,” Shiro explained. “And she couldn’t bring that excuse to the church. Even _if_ she had been in love with another man, they wouldn’t have allowed it. Her marriage would, essentially, be made for political reasons. Or to avoid an uproar of any kind between the church, council, and the people in general. But they always esteemed the church and the council above the people in these situations—nothing better than tradition, they say.”

Shiro was asked to step down—he was well-loved and favored among the common people, specifically for providing the little things that made a big difference. He helped increase the wages of the working people, helped provide food to families without. To them, he retired from the political work voluntarily—he had a good run. 

On top of it, to ensure Shiro wouldn’t interfere with the royal family again, the King took care of the matter. “When they heard the Princess had been confiding in me—and another councilman, who refused to talk to her about the subject personally—we were both asked to step down, myself and the other councilman. I was far more… _involved_ in the manner relating to the marriage. This all came up after the King became infuriated with me to retract the law that required the wages to increase for working people—he looked for dirt and… unfortunately found some hidden between myself and the Princess.”

“But you were just trying to help her,” Pidge argued. “She didn’t want to marry—so what? She can rule without a King. Screw marriage!”

“That makes a whole lot more sense—look how you act when Pidge scares away every goddamn suitor _except_ Domen,” Keith said, grinning as Shiro did, and Pidge slapped them both on the leg.

“Royal marriages are mostly a tool of convenience. She will eventually be married off to a prince from a neighboring country in hopes of expansion, or to a son among the noblemen, to secure loyalty, please the public, or… what-have-you,” Shiro said with a shrug. “And because they seemed to think I found marriage useless—since I supported the Princess’ notion that marriage wasn’t necessary—the King… nearly a month later… sent an assassin. And had my wife killed.”

“I hope that skanky bitch sent you a fruit basket or something,” Pidge hissed, and in any other case, Keith would have laughed. But Shiro didn’t seem to find it all that amusing. 

Their father rubbed a hand over his temple and said, “Yes, well, she didn’t. I imagine it would have been hard for anything to slip past Zarkon’s security anyway, including a letter or… a fruit basket.”

“But your wife—” Keith started, drawing their attention him, “—what was she like?”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Shiro’s lips. “It’d be cliche to say she was lovely, but she was. Her name was Alis—Alistrona, actually—and she was a childhood friend. I loved her since I was about eight years old. It was partially arranged, since our parents encouraged it so much and we worked well together. It was natural, really.”

“Then why doesn’t Allura like her?” he asked, which caused Shiro to hesitate. “I mean—it’s just what I’ve picked up. You don’t have to answer that—”

“No, um… it’s fine. You—You should probably know,” he answered, scowling at the ground for a moment before saying, slowly, “Alis and I didn’t marry until we were in our mid-twenties. I had intense schooling before then, so we spent some time apart. Allura and I are close in age and she didn’t own a single brothel until she was… when was it? I think she was twenty, actually. We met when we were eighteen—”

“You went to a brothel!” Pidge screamed.

“No—Pidge—”

“ _You had sex with Allura_ —!” 

“Stop it, that isn’t how it went,” Shiro insisted, face going red. Keith laughed because that just seemed to suggest that Shiro _had_. He slapped his hands over his face, cooling his flaming skin for a moment before groaning out, “That _isn’t_ what happened. We met at a tavern bar and we talked until the bar closed and she walked me home. It was a two-time thing, nothing more to that, and it was before I realized she worked at a brothel. Brothel women are usually never younger than eighteen anyway. How was I to know?”

“But that doesn’t change anything! That was just her occupation!” Pidge screamed, throwing herself back in her chair, a trance-like look on her face as she slouched down, shirt bunching up around her stomach. “You could have married Allura. I bet sex with her was _awesome_ —”

“Oh dear _Lord_ ,” Keith groaned. So much for canceling Pidge out of the equation of the number of people who had a crush on Allura. 

“I am going to choose to ignore that statement,” Shiro said, slapping his hands onto the armrests of his chair, and pushing himself up. “I need a drink. And then I’m going to sleep—you two need to get some rest. And no going out tonight, Keith—my orders.”

“But—”

“No. You stay in tonight. It’s supposed to rain anyway,” Shiro insisted, and raised his brows as if challenging Keith to argue against him. Keith deflated, lips pursing and gears turning—he was already formulating a plan to sneak out anyway. He’d just leave a mound of pillows under his covers to make it look like he was in his bed. And then he’d have to—

So that night he snuck out. Figures. He was certain Shiro suspected he would, and he’d probably be reprimanded for it in the morning, but at the time it seemed like a good idea. He went straight for the marketplace, which was vacant and clouded by torrents of rain scattering across the brick street, casting a shimmery gloss over the ground. He dropped down from the rooftop, skimming the opposite wall of the safe house door. Water splashed up at his feet as he padded over to the door, took out the keys, and disappeared inside.

Coran taught him a trick—just something they speculated about for ages consider Coran himself wasn’t a mimic. He supposed that if Keith could form blocks and temporary throwing knives out of thin air that _looked_ like air (in other words, they looked like nothing), then couldn’t he fill in the keyhole, without the use of a key? And then twist them all simultaneously, opening the door?

Keith tried it on the first two locks, unsuccessfully for the first five tries. And then, the first unlocked itself. They knew it was possible—they’d done it before—but Keith always found the effort exhaustingly fastidious, so he unlocked the rest with the key.

“I had half a mind to think someone was trying to break in here,” Coran called out to Keith as he descended the stairs. The safe house itself was in a basement, but with high ceilings. From the door you could overlook the entire room, where Coran sat working at the table. 

“I was just practicing,” Keith said, and as he did so he tossed up a filter, standing in the center of the room and giving a spin for Coran. “What about a 360 filter? We always just focus on one side of me.”

The man looked up from his work, and his eyes went directly to Keith. That just meant the filter sucked—no matter what Coran said about “knowing what to look for”. Keith dropped his arms, and the filter vanished. “You could at least entertain me for a little while. I hate it when you do that.”

“What? I’m not going to lie to you when I can completely see where you are,” he argued, “Besides, 360 filters are harder to maintain. They require too much focus—stick to our usual ones.”

Keith groaned, plunking down on the seat across from Coran’s work. He fiddled with one of the metal pieces on the table until Coran slapped his hand away, so he pulled out his lucky charm from a pocket on his waistband. He spun it on the table, and it made that whirring sound against the metal until spiraling flat on the surface. He picked it up again and spun it.

“Is that the coin you took from the kid who ratted you out,” Coran asked, though it just seemed more like an observation. Keith sighed, picking the coin up again and staring at it for a moment, positioning it so it completely covered Coran’s face. 

“Yeah. I keep it on me when I can,” he explained. “Lucky coin, I guess.”

“Hardly seems like it, considering what happened after you took it,” Coran commented. Keith frowned at him, lowering the coin. “Though, I did get to meet you because of it. You wouldn’t be my apprentice had you not beat that kid to a pulp. I imagine you would have shown signs of mimicry later on, but, who knows when that would have been?”

“It’s always confused me, because that day I was basically running for my life, and every other time I’m in panic mode, it’s so hard to throw up a filter,” Keith said, settling his chin on his hand. “You think it’s because I’m focusing on it too much? I didn’t even think about it that first time, because I didn’t know that I could.”

“That’s an excellent observation. I would stick to it—just don’t think about it. Let it become second nature, like how conversation is second nature to Lance, or lying comes as second nature to Pidge.”

“And killing comes as second nature to you,” Keith murmured quietly, and a moment later he found Coran staring at him. “Shiro says it does.”

The man smirked and waved a flippant hand. “Bah, don’t listen to him. Killing isn’t a sport, it’s a job. I bag whoever Allura wants me to bag.”

“But aren’t you retired? What did you used to do?” he asked, eyebrows raising. Coran grinned at him, returning back to his work.

“I worked for Rax, mostly—his business requires a lot of strong hands, cutthroats. I started by taking care of folks who didn’t pay up. Threatening them, killing them, taking some of their belongings as payment. Allura needed someone taken care of who was harassing her girls, and Rax recommended me to her. She had other options, of course, but wondered where all these terrible men were going in the city. A lot of them just ‘vanished’—rival gang leaders and such.”

“And you took care of them?” Keith said, eyes wide. “Why?”

“Because they were terrible men and women. Sure, I killed and threatened men who would have been good, were they off Rax’s doses, but… that just wasn’t the case a lot of the time. I never killed children, though. Allura’s strongmen often took care of the kids who ran the gangs, like the one you were in. Usually her… _allure_ was enough to secure loyalty with them, though.”

“You glamour, you mean,” Keith said, voice quiet as if they were being overheard. 

Coran studied him for a moment and nodded. “Yes, her glamour. It comes in handy. When she was younger, and worked in the brothels, it got her out of a lot of terrible things. Women of her beauty are often abused for it, but she could talk her way out of anything—even just a smile would convince belligerent men and women that they wouldn’t harm her.

“And then she ran the brothels. And wherever she is, the men and women who work for her are less likely to be abused, simply because she’s able to tell her clients not to, and they won’t. On rare occasions, yes, the clients do abuse her workers—but then that’s what people like men take care of, or the guards in the brothels.”

Keith remembered the guards from Allura’s palace-like brothel. They were menacing people, and were at every possible entrance. Whenever he snuck in and out, they watched him like a hawk.

“What happens to the workers when they… don’t work anymore?”

“Usually after eight years or so, they’re set for life. If they know how to save up, that is. And Allura assists her ‘veteran’ workers after they take leave of the brothels. She’s a very gracious madame—not many were, before she came about and bought them all out,” Coran explained. “She has an eye for men and women like herself. People with glamours. She trains them and they run the other branches across the city. She’s smart, you see.”

“So… like how Haggar has a cult of sorcerers, Allura has a following of glamours.”

“Glamours who don’t realize what they are. She keeps that point a secret,” he said, and upon Keith’s questioning look, he continued, “It’s… not always safe to know who you are. Allura has been targeted simply because she is a glamour—Haggar’s prejudice against her is proof of that.”

“Oh,” Keith hummed, dropping his eyes. 

“Are we done with this conversation now?” Coran asked, and just the tone of his voice told Keith that this was a conversation he usually didn’t touch with a ten foot pole.

“Yes, sir. I won’t ask again,” he promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry my dudes for the delay. I'm on a road trip rn with minimum energy when we do get to places with wifi. I get back to business on Friday, so there will be daily updates again yaaayy.
> 
> Also, in all of my stories I end up making Shiro, like, the single most dynamic character of the bunch and we just hit that point and I'm just sitting here like, "Whyyyy do I do this to my space daaadd?? His life is hard enough as is it canonically!!"


	10. Midday Naps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith becomes Sylvester, plus a stabby-stabby session.

Keith studied Lance that morning when he woke up to the abrupt attack of his siblings. Keith sat on the rooftop, farther off, with his knees pulled up to his chest, and his arms around them, damp from the rain. He felt awkward and stiff in damp trousers, but he was just thankful that the fabric was lightweight, and just clung to every goddamn part of his legs. His hand hooded over the lens of his spyglass, to ward away rain droplets that would muddle the image of Lance rolling off the bed, and onto his youngest sister.

She pushed at him, but he stayed still, even as Sebastian dropped onto his back. Even though he couldn’t hear them, Keith was certain they were all laughing hysterically. 

When Lance started to get ready for the day, Keith pushed himself up, brushed himself off, and was on his way. There were other things to attend to—like chemistry training with Coran. He was sure the man was plotting several ways on how to off Sendak, but then again, Keith was certain there were other methods aside from poisoning that Coran was eager to use on Sendak.

“Sendak and several others plan to celebrate his promotion at Allura’s gentlemen’s club. In other words: he’ll be gone the entire night. Really the only thing you’ll have to worry about is scheduling around Sylvester’s tendencies,” Coran explained that morning when Keith returned to him, tired and hazy from spending the night out.

“Sylvester hasn’t been to see Sendak’s daughter since his father died. Either he’s too depressed or too exhausted because of all the responsibility,” Keith explained. “I think it’s a mixture of both. Sendak’s daughter has been more ruthless than usual to her youngest sister.”

“See? And this is why Allura is so successful. She obtains work through the misfortunes of others.”

“But now their habits are off—I can’t be sure Sylvester won’t break his mould now, or if Sendak’s daughter will wake in the night simply because she’s used to it. I was snooping around their things last night and I found her diary—”

“What?” Coran laughed as Keith produced it, held it up, and slid it onto the table. Coran instantly snatched it up.

“I wasn’t able to read it—it was raining out and I didn’t want to ruin the pages. I’m glad this cloak is waterproof… mostly.”

“Ah, so you were hanging out at the McClain’s house then. How long this time?” Coran asked, peering down his nose at the book’s pages. When he looked up at Keith, he was faced with a deadly scowl. “Just an observation. I hope you know that boy is infatuated with you. It’s not like you’ll catch him dawdling with another man or woman.”

“Like Sylvester? Sylvester supposedly is infatuated with Beatrice and yet—”

“Beatrice is a saint, you realize that, right? Sylvester isn’t, and on top of it he’s a man. He is apart of the population who is controlled by sexual desire, and Beatrice can’t give him that until they’re married—that’s _her_ rule. In the meantime, he entertains Sendak’s daughter. You see what I mean?” Coran said.

Keith thought for a moment before blushing furiously and yelling, “I’m not going to cheat on him!”

“You aren’t Sylvester—”

“But he isn’t a saint! I’m not a saint—but Lance is and—”

“Okay, okay. ‘Saint’ is a broad term. You’re still innocent Keith, in other ways. Don’t feel like you can’t—Oh, I don’t know. I’m not a romantic.”

“Clearly.”

“But don’t feel like you’ll _taint_ Lance. The kid doesn’t care about that sort of stuff—now, if you tell him about your profession… that might be a different story,” Coran said, pursing his lips as he tapped his fingers over the pages in his hands. Keith scowled at him until the man continued. “But either way I’m not sure if there will be anything useful in a teenage girl’s diary.”

“It was in the chest by her bed, in a lockbox, with a lock on the diary itself. And you think there isn’t anything _useful_ in it?” Keith said, irritated by Coran’s quick judgement. His mentor shrugged and flipped through the diary before pointedly stopping at a page and clearing his throat.

“‘I find it hard to believe that after the past year, Sylvester still hasn’t come to a decision regarding our ‘relationship’. I use the word lightly due to the fact that he hardly seems to think of it as such. He’s quick to label his relationship with Beatrice—a girl he sees almost less than me—as something that is more substantial. As if a relationship doesn’t require physical attraction, what absolute bullshit.’”

Keith rolled his eyes, exclaiming, “That was just one entry! There’s more to a diary than that.”

“Yes, and how would you know. Have _you_ written in a journal, or Pidge?”

“Pidge keeps everything bottled up inside,” Keith argued. “She probably wouldn’t even put all that on paper if it’s meant to be a secret. And I’m complete crap at writing, as if I would do that for _the hell of it_.”

Coran offered an apologetic look as he handed the diary back. “Either way, I won’t be reading it. You can feel free to scour the pages as much as you’d like,” Coran said, and dismissed Keith for the day. 

He walked back home, walking on the rooftops as far as they went, and then at last arriving at the brick-lined riverbank. He followed the stream closer to the outskirts until he crossed the bridge, and meandered into the backyard of the Shirogane estate. It was difficult to walk and read at the same time, so he spent some time outside under the clear skies until the breeze became too chilly—it blew right through the thin material of his uniform.

Keith decided not to bother with climbing up to his open window. It was light out, so no one really batted an eye to him marching through the back door and swinging the door shut behind him. He slipped off his shoes and carried them up the stairs and to his room, where he was partway through changing when the door to his room burst open.

“Hey—!” he shrieked, covering up his chest with his shirt.

“Warning! Warning! Hunk and Lance are here—I saw you outside—you owe me for keeping them away from every goddamn backyard window,” Pidge hissed, jabbing a finger at him from across the room. After hesitating for a moment, she looked him over once and said, “As if I’ve never seen you with your shirt off! Unbelievable.”

He was frozen in his place, even after Pidge marched out and slammed the door behind her. After a moment he sighed and muttered, “Thanks for the _warning_.” It wasn’t like she could hear it anyway.

After hurriedly changing, Keith hid the diary between the folds of his uniform and stuffed it in the back of his wardrobe. He was barely out the door before he was tackled from the side by Lance. He was thankful he became used to Lance’s sneak-attacks—he forced himself to, considering he didn’t want another instance of tossing Lance across the hallway again. 

“ _Keeith!_ ” he screamed against Keith’s shoulder, all but grabbing him around the torso as he kissed at Keith’s neck. “Where have you been?!”

“I told you! He was running errands,” Pidge said, and as Keith peered over Lance’s tuft of brown hair, he saw Hunk clasp his hands under his chin and coo, “ _Aww_ …”

Keith rubbed his eye after Lance finally backed away, and after a split second, Lance ducked down to where he could pop into his field of vision. “Hey, you look exhausted. Did you even sleep last night?” he asked. 

_The real question is whether or not I slept at all this week_ , Keith mused, and just the thought of it caused his hand to drop and his shoulders to sag. How was he even standing anyway?

“Nothing less than eight hours a night,” Hunk chastised before turning to Pidge. “What about you?”

“I don’t know. I run pretty well on five or six.”

“ _Five_ hours?!” he cried out, and Pidge quickly argued, “More like six! I swear!”

“That’s not enough,” Lance pouted, hands on his hips as he turned on Pidge, and then back to Keith. “How many hours did you get?” 

_Hours?_ he repeated dreadfully. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept through the entire night. Even when he wasn’t out—on rare occasions—he could barely close his eyes without dreaming about Rollo. It’d been three entire years and he still couldn’t get the image out of his head.

In some ways, he knew he could never be like Coran if his conscience kept reminding his subconscious to feel guilty about what he did to Rollo.

“Uh… truthfully, I don’t sleep very well to begin with,” Keith said, being as honest as he could without admitting he spent nearly every night outside Lance’s bedroom window. His ears heated up at the thought of Lance already knowing what he did—but there was no way Lance _could_ know.

“Why not?” Hunk asked. “I used to have trouble _falling_ sleep—but my nan makes this excellent sleep tea and it knocks you right now.”

“I don’t think that’s the issue—I have vivid dreams,” Keith explained. “I doubt there’s a tea to fix that.”

Lance hummed thoughtfully, and took just a few steps towards the bedroom door. Soon they were all following him inside, and the four of them collapsed onto Keith’s bed. “Well, I don’t know about that. I used to have reoccurring nightmares as a kid,” Lance said.

“How’d you get rid of them?” Pidge asked.

“Oh! His gran knit him a _blankey_ ,” Hunk said, and Lance turned his nose up.

“Yeah, so? It worked, didn’t it?” he argued. “I think it’s called a placebo effect. If you believe it’ll help, it does. It’s a… psychological thing? So it doesn’t help physiological problems at all, but if you’re able to convince your brain that such-and-such will stop the nightmares from happening, then it will.”

“You just ruined the effect now. Keith’s conscious that he won’t be taking anything useful,” Pidge argued, and Lance deflated.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he pouted. Keith scooted closer to him and gently leant into his side. A second later Lance exclaimed, “What about peppermint tea! My gran used to give that to me at night if I couldn’t get to sleep, and I never dreamt at all. Usually I have _wild_ dreams.”

“Peppermint tea? I suppose that makes sense… it’s meant to relax people,” Hunk hummed. “Do you think your kitchen has peppermint tea?”

“ _Now_?” Keith said. “I don’t want to sleep _now—_ ”

“Obviously you’re tired, and I wouldn’t mind a nap,” Lance said. “I’ll drink some tea if you drink some.”

“Same here,” Hunk agreed. “Katie?”

“Since we’re having one big nap-fest, then sure. I’m in,” she said, hopping off the bed to fetch a maid to bring the tea in. As she left, Keith looked at his bed, at Hunk flopping across the foot of it, and then Lance leaning against his side. Were they really going to all fit on the bed? 

Well, it was a pretty large bed. In actuality, it would probably fit all four of them without a problem. Keith separated only to grab more blankets from the top shelf of his wardrobe, and while he did that, Lance pulled the curtains closed. Only small, slivers of light kept through the top of the fabric, and highlighted the ceiling above them. “I call left side. I always sleep on the left side of my bed anyway,” Hunk said. 

“Katie doesn’t like to be sandwiched, so she can take the right side,” Lance suggested.

“The only reason you know that is because you’re always insisting we have group-hugs. Pidge hates those,” Keith scoffed, and took the hit when Lance lashed out at him with a pillow.

“They are necessary,” he argued. “Now get in the bed.”

Keith rolled his eyes and scooted onto the comforter. It felt weird knowing that it was a cloudless day outside, and yet they were inside purposefully blocking out the light. As if his daily schedule wasn’t strange enough. He spent his nights out in the city and his days trying to function through lessons with Pidge.

Pidge came back, and later the maid came in. The woman smiled at them all and asked what they were up to, which Hunk replied with, “We’re going to take an eight hour nap because Keith doesn’t sleep.”

“I do to sleep,” Keith muttered, reaching over to accept the cup the maid offered. He took small sips, his back against the pillowed headboard. He loved the flavor of mint, and breathed it in between mouthfuls of hot tea. When he finished his cup, he passed it to Hunk, who set it on the bedside table.

“Don’t be surprised if I join your cuddle session. I like to cuddle,” he warned Keith, who laughed and said he didn’t mind. 

“But I mind! Keith’s off limits, _Hunk_ ,” Lance whined, reaching over to shove his best friend in the arm. 

“But he said he was cool with it,” Hunk insisted.

“Stop arguing about who gets to cuddle who,” Pidge mumbled.

“My father’s gonna be pissed if he finds out I slept in the same bed as Katie. And _next to her_ as well,” Lance whined. “Don’t tell him, all right Hunk?” 

“Oh shit, you’re right,” Hunk hissed. “The maid already saw you though.”

“Keith, switch places with me,” Lance pleaded, and he faintly heard Pidge scoff and mutter, “Moron,” under her breath. Keith snickered and agreed, letting Lance roll over him and drop comfortably into a position where his arm stayed securely around Keith. The light from the ceiling reflected on Lance’s cheeky smile as he leaned in to Keith and whispered, “My dad thinks that it was ‘irresponsible’ of Shiro to let Katie in on the slumber party we had that one night. I think Provost Thrace thinks it’s strange as well. They’re so traditional.”

Keith hesitated at that before stammering, “But… Katie’s just like us. She can do whatever she wants, right?” he said that part a bit louder, shifting over to see her. She fell onto her back and groaned a little in response. “See? She can do whatever she wants.”

“I _know that_. But my father doesn’t want me staying over at your house overnight anymore. He thinks Katie shouldn’t be hanging out with us then,” he explained, pressing his chin on Keith’s arm as he said to her, “Isn’t that ridiculous?”

“Incredibly ridiculous. How else am I supposed to play the pee-your-pants prank on you?” she said, exasperated.

Lance’s jaw tensed against Keith’s arm. “I hate it when you pull that prank,” he complained.

“Ugh, she’s done that to you, too?” Hunk whined. “I thought I was insane. I always bring two pairs of underwear with me whenever Katie is involved.”

She snickered from the other side of the bed, twisting so her back faced Keith. “Goodnight, you lunatics.”

“I think you mean good- _nap_ ,” Lance said, and Keith rolled his eyes, nudging Lance in the rib. “Ouch! You stop that.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Keith said as Lance settled back down, facing him. Keith shuffled forward and pressed his forehead to Lance’s collarbone. Lanced froze for a moment, and Keith could feel his arm tense on his waist before lifting up and tugging the covers over them, up to their shoulders.

Keith’s warm breath made it feel like the world out from under these covers was incredibly cold. They huddled under the blanket as Lance cradled Keith in his arms—one arm beneath the pillow under Keith’s head, and the other draped around his torso. For a while, all Keith could do was stare into the dark where Lance’s shirt fabric was, and past that to where their legs tangled together. He could feel where the comforter over them tented behind him, where Pidge laid beside him already breathing evenly.

Lance’s hand began to drift up and down Keith’s back. The rhythm was relaxing, calming, and reminded Keith of how heavy his eyelids felt. He closed them, and let the quiet atmosphere compel him to sleep.

  


  


He didn’t dream of anything during that time, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t remember what happened every other time he slept. It constantly insisted he remember Rollo’s face as he did that day, after Allura insisted he kill Rollo for her. She had given him a knife, a knife which he no longer carried with him because of the events that conspired the day Keith killed Rollo.

He spent time plotting, planning, recalling the habits of Rollo’s thugs throughout the days and evenings. Keith was familiar with the harbor—he could easily trap Rollo somewhere around there, and did so by waiting for _days_ outside of the main shelter, where everyone was. He watched kids come and go, and Rollo’s thugs rotate positions every other hour. He kept his eyes focused for Rollo, and the instant Keith saw him, two days after his stakeout began, he stepped forward, careful to avoid the thugs as they talked, and eventually walked away from Rollo.

Seeing the kid again reminded Keith of why he was doing this. He couldn’t feel anything aside from the roaring heat of his blood pulsing in his ears, and the shakiness of his fists as he fought to keep them still at his sides. 

Rollo’s attention flickered to him, and that familiar, disgusted sneer tugged at his lips. He pressed a hand to his thug’s chest, pushing him aside as he started towards Keith. 

“Well well, looks like your back, huh? I figured you’d be out for at _least_ another week,” Rollo scoffed, and the second Keith was close enough, he made a grab for Keith’s arm. He let him, though the sensation of Rollo’s skin on his own was revolting.

This close up to Rollo nearly made Keith forget his confidence. Forget his place. The last time he’d seen Rollo, it was during the time he was carried to the car. Keith had been helpless then—at the mercy of Allura, namely, but also Rollo. The kid could have dumped him in the river, and there was nothing Keith could have done about it.

“Y-You and I both know Allura will—” Keith started, voice breaking off as Rollo’s grip tightened, and his hiss broke Keith off.

“Allura will _what_? Hm? What’d she want you for anyway?” the kid sneered at him. 

“That’s between Allura and me,” Keith all but whispered, glaring at Rollo defiantly, and with enough vigor to cause the kid’s grip to falter. “She’ll kill you if you lay another hand on me. She’s upset enough as it is,” he said, voice strengthening. “I’m just here to give you a message. From Allura.”

At this Rollo backed off, folding his arms against his chest and glaring down at Keith spitefully. He may have been a hassle for Rollo, but now Keith was his ticket to Allura’s good side again. _As if she’d ever trust you again_ , Keith mused bitterly. 

“She wants to talk to you. At midnight. In the boathouse on the south side of the harbor,” Keith said. 

Before Keith could leave, Rollo stepped towards him, brows creasing together. “What’s it about?” he demanded.

Keith hesitated before saying, “She never told me. But Rollo—” he looked the older kid in the eyes and said, “—come alone.”

So that night Keith spent all his time huddled in the boathouse waiting. He sat behind crates stashed in the back of the boathouse, away from the edges of the water beneath the wooden floorboards. The light from the stars and the moon reflected off the water, and created webs of bluish, crystalline lights across the beams holding on the ceiling.

Keith waited. And waited. And waited. 

Until finally he figured it was time to get in position. 

He climbed up the crates one by one before getting to the farthest wall. Heavy nails were hammered into the wooden frame, and he used them to hoist himself up onto the highest beam. He maneuvered around the crosses of wooden posts, before finding himself several feet over the entrance.

The instant he heard footsteps approaching, he readied himself. His heart was beating so fast that he felt his chest might just rupture. He was sure his heart would give him away the second Rollo stepped into the room. He didn’t waist a second as the door threatened to shut.

Keith used the sound of the closing door to mask his feet leaving the support beam, and plummet onto Rollo.

His adrenaline could be heard in the rush of water reverberating in his ears. It was like an ocean had filled his insides, and come bursting forth in a torrent of heavy-handed fists, a knife gripped in his right hand. As he tumbled over Rollo, taking them both to the ground, he screamed with the rage that fueled his first kick to Rollo’s skull. 

Keith scrambled to his feet after, lunging for Rollo and slamming him back by the shoulders. The kid was taken so off guard that he didn’t think to fight back until he saw who it was that was beating the shit out of him. “ _You!_ ” Rollo shrieked, roaring as he slammed his fists against Keith’s elbows, knocking him down for a split second. 

Rollo grabbed him by the throat, but Keith already plunged the dagger into his side. He yanked it out, hardly believing the expression that rendered on Rollo’s shocked expression. He’d never seen Rollo as anything other than that stoic, diabolical beast looming in the corners of the shelter. But _this_ was different. He was still a monster, but now he was also in _pain_.

And Keith felt a mixture of some godawful sensation in the pit of his stomach as he held the knife back, and struggled to strike Rollo again.

“ _You_ _little shit_ ,” Rollo seethed, squeezing his thumbs against Keith’s throat. He choked, his breath escaping in that one gasp.

His eyes started to well up, clouded in moisture as he clawed at Rollo’s hands, arms, and then his face. Keith pinched his thumb to Rollo’s cheek, dipping into his eye socket. They were both screaming by the time Rollo yanked himself back and slapped a hand over his eye, seething with curses. Keith coughed, sounding like a strangled goose as he picked himself up off the ground and stumbled towards Rollo. Blood pulsed from the wound on the kid’s side, soaking the fabric of his shirt and trousers.

Keith aimed a kick straight for the wound, knocking Rollo towards the open space in the center of the boathouse. His breath was raspy, quick, as he staggered down the length of the opening in the floor. Water from the river lapped up against the edges of the wooden dock.

“Allura didn’t send ya, did she?” Rollo bit out, his voice coming closer as he heaved himself to his feet and stormed after Keith. “What’d she want with ya?”

Keith didn’t answer, turning just seconds before Rollo swung at him. He ducked and pivoted reaching out for something in the air only to be knocked to the side by Rollo’s fist slamming into his head.

Keith’s skull rattled. It’d been sensitive ever since his last beating, and it caused his vision to scatter completely. He couldn’t see _anything_ , even as Rollo pulled at him. He floundered around him, hand yanking on the rope he sought. 

“You little shit—you are _mine_ , you hear me?! You work for _me,_ an’ I don’t toler—”

Keith grappled with the rope, his vision coming back to him in time to land a punch to Rollo’s jaw. Keith’s fist swelled in pain, but he ignored it for the time it took to loop the noose around Rollo’s neck as he sagged towards the ground. He yanked on the rope, slamming his foot against Rollo’s back, and heaved it tighter.

“Say that again,” Keith seethed, pushing his foot harder against Rollo’s back. The kid curved like a branch on the verge of snapping. Rollo’s hands wrestled around the rope, but the rough material dug into his neck, searing hard red lines around his throat. “ _SAY IT AGAIN! Call me a little shit one more time—!_ ” Keith screamed, voice cracking.

It took a while for Rollo’s body to go limp, and with the force Keith yanked at the rope, Rollo’s loose body swung to the side, and fell towards the water. Keith ran forward and kicked at him again for good measure, sending Rollo straight into the river. He dipped under, and resurfaced, coasting with the waves.

Keith heaved on the dock, staring at Rollo’s body before letting out a scream and chucking the remainder of the rope in with Rollo. He marched over to the boat lift and cranked the handle, lowering the metal rig into the water. The bars pressed into the body, and sunk it into the water. It wouldn’t resurface until one of the boathouse owners raised the boat lift again. 

And even then they wouldn’t do anything with the body. It was just another street rat after all.

  


  


Keith woke up feeling better than he had in a long while. When he shifted beneath the covers, Lance did as well. Keith glanced over his shoulder at Pidge, who was still breathing softly, evenly. Hunk was the same, back pressed up against Lance’s.

“How did you sleep?” Lance whispered, and the peppermint on his breath brought a warm smile to Keith’s lips.

“Better than I have in a while,” Keith murmured back, barely audible. Lance pressed their foreheads together, grinning sleepily at him. His eyes were tight, but his smile was gentle, and hinted at the soft dimples at his cheeks. Keith felt like his insides were warm, and his mind felt like a mild fog had rolled over it.

“I like taking naps with you. It’s like the night of your birthday party all over again,” Lance grinned, dipping his nose against Keith’s. He giggled quietly, nestling closer.

“I wish I could sleep with you more often— _not_ like, _sleep-sleep_ , but I mean _actual_ sleep,” Keith said, blushing when Lance’s cheeks did the same. 

“Yeah, well, I can’t sleepover here anymore,” he admitted dejectedly. “Which sucks because I really like hanging out with you and Katie.”

Keith hummed, letting his head rest against the pillow again. Lance’s hands slid up and down his back again, practically willing him to fall asleep again. He fought it, though, mainly because his thoughts went to Sylvester’s tactic. 

“If you leave your window open tonight, I could stop by,” Keith whispered, quiet enough so even if Pidge or Hunk were awake, they couldn’t hear them. Lance seemed to take a moment to register what Keith was saying, and his eyes grew wide. “I can get up and down from my window easily—it won’t be a problem.”

“ _Are you kidding me_?” Lance hissed under his breath, ducking in to push their faces together. “That’s the most brilliant idea you’ve ever come up with.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “I seriously doubt that, but I’ll take it.”

“Tonight? You promise?” Lance asked, reaching a hand up. He held out his pinkie to Keith, and Keith shook it.

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SCREAMING. GAH. I've been holding off on writing the Rollo scene since it was first implied aND I JUST--gah. 
> 
> Sometimes I wish I was better at action scenes, but action scenes are really hard to write! I mean, it takes a lot of sentence structure. That's the main point. Short, blunt sentences and I have to change my usual tactic of dancing around the point. It's just gotta... BE THERE no horsing around. I'm really good at horsing around with my sentences. This is what I mean, "Before he skedaddled out of the room, though, he snatched his chestnut cigar box because why the frick not." In an action scene, it'd go, "He snatched his cigar box and sprinted from the room." Like, that's so boring but that's how action scenes are formatted. Forget about the details, just go for it because the readers have to fly through it fast to get the full effect.
> 
> Action tips, my friends. Action tips.


	11. Overnight

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Pidge murmured from where she perched on the edge of Keith’s bed. “If you can’t sleep like a normal person…”

“Shut up. I have rounds to do anyway—I’ll just… bring a change of spare clothes. So long as he doesn’t pick up the damn bag, then he won’t even know I have an arsenal of guns and daggers on me,” Keith said, one foot perched on his window sill. He was preparing to leave when Pidge barged in. He couldn’t believe his luck—it was like Pidge _knew things,_ like when Keith’s habits were about to change.

“I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it,” she said, sticking her nose in the air. “And what will you do to keep me from telling Shiro, hm? He barely even knows about you and Lance. He just thinks you two are the best of friends and there couldn’t _possibly_ be anything _dubious_ about that.”

“If you haven’t told him about us by now, you probably won’t,” Keith argued, and she cursed under her breath. “I’ll be leaving early anyways—Lance’s siblings always barge in in the morning anyway and I don’t want him getting in trouble.”

“I’m not going to ask how you know that,” Pidge smirked, and Keith gave her a bored expression. He grabbed the top of the window frame and prepared to swing through, but she hurriedly said, “Don’t do anything stupid. Lance is a good guy.”

Keith bristled at that, turning to face her with both hands leaning on the frame. He glared at her as he said, “Lance _is_ a good guy, but that doesn’t mean I have to treat him like some… goddamn porcelain vase. I’m not going to tarnish him if I touch him.”

Pidge giggled, “Ha, you’re gonna touch him.”

His entire face flamed, and he all but growled at her, “Keep your mouth shut. It isn’t _like that_.”

So Keith left Pidge to her imagination, and dropped down to the ground. His impact was hard, but he didn’t even stagger as he picked himself up and started for the river. He jumped the distance smoothly, and flung his hand towards the nearest building. He leapt, feet hitting the invisible bricks he pulled out one by one, jumping swiftly past the second story, third story, and then grabbing on to the rooftop ledge.

Stunts like those used to stress him out—not just mentally, but physically as well. Most days he still woke up sore from overexerting himself, but it was getting better. He could keep up this pace for hours, jumping up and down buildings and landing swiftly through unsuspecting windows. He visited with people Sendak went to interrogate—the man was taking his newest position seriously. Ever since his promotion was solidified by the King’s word, Sendak fanned across the entire cityscape. 

Shiro used to play a part in the King’s council, but since then he lived off of the large sum of money his parents left to him, along with his overflowing savings account. On top of it, he owned a good portion of the rentable homes and apartment complexes in the city. That was his main job now, on top of playing a hand in merchandise where Dean McClain was involved.

That night Keith observed one of Shiro’s renters dragged out of her building and forced into the carriage of a police vehicle. It unnerved Keith—this was the first person associated to Shiro that was taken from their home. After last time, Keith wasn’t sure if he was even capable of helping any of these people without gutting out the source of the problem first. 

He wasn’t prepared to kill Sendak anyway. He’d seen the man force men and women from their families on account of their two-faced loyalty. Sendak was slowly purging the city of nonconformists, even if it meant doing the dirty work himself. 

Keith remembered what Pidge had said about the McClain estate. It was the reason he never brought up politics with Lance—because the McClains weren’t entirely loyal to the King, at least in their beliefs. One slip could lead Sendak straight to their front door.

Keith followed the police vehicle as far as he could—to the walls outside of the palace. They disappeared through the heavy iron gates. He sighed in disappointment, and walked up to the wall. He pressed his hand against it and pulled out an invisible, solid stone. The pathway up was simple enough—like climbing stairs—until he finally reached the top of the wall and perched on top of it, throwing up a filter so the multitude of guards couldn’t see him unless they really looked.

It was the back gateway—it wasn’t the main entrance to the palace, so Keith could see where all the vehicles went to drop off supplies and goods to the palace kitchens and such. There was a tunnel, at least as far as he could tell, that dipped underground. The police vehicle disappeared into it, and didn’t come out for another thirty minutes. When it left the palace grounds, Keith didn’t see Shiro’s tenant inside.

Sendak had been bringing Zarkon’s offenders here—there had to be ten by now, but Keith couldn’t exactly keep track of those they may have took during the day, or if the kids of the prisoners ever rebelled against the police afterwards. It was unnerving, and the more he thought about what went down beneath the palace, the more he cringed at the ideas that came to mind.

It was sufficiently dark, but not quite high-moon yet, so Keith started on his way down the wall, hopping to the ground halfway down, and began the trek to Lance’s house. Just before arriving, Keith slipped into an alleyway and hastily changed clothes. He stuffed his uniform and belt into the bag and hoisted it onto his shoulders. 

Lance’s home was pure white and accented with columns in the front and back, where the back patio and balconies overlooked the McClain plantation, past the garden walls. Keith jumped the stone walls and hurried to the wall just beneath Lance’s window. All the lights in the house were off, including Lance’s, but he could see part of his window was left open.

Keith turned back to the plantation, and the worker’s lodgings not far away. There wasn’t anyone around, so he flung his hand up, and used the invisible handholds to carry himself up to the window.

He pushed it open slowly and his breath hitched, seeing Lance’s room so close up. Sure, he’d been in Lance’s room before, but not like this. Never like this. Here was the room Keith ritually visited and watched each night from far away.

There wasn’t a single sound in the room, at least, not until Keith stepped fully inside and shut the window. The blankets shifted, and Keith’s heart started beating rapidly in his chest at the sight of Lance sitting up and tiredly rubbing at the side of his face.

“I thought you weren’t gonna come,” Lance admitted, sounding tired. 

Keith grimaced a little, lowering his bag slowly as if waiting for Lance to turn him away. He wouldn’t blame him—they hadn’t really decided on a time, but just before bed was what Lance was hoping for. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

Lance was quiet for a moment, watching Keith as let his bag dangle from his hand. Eventually, Lance sighed and threw back the blankets. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get in here.”

And just like that, Keith perked up again. He hastily kicked his shoes off, set his bag aside, and hopped onto the mattress. Lance chuckled a little, holding the blanket up until Keith laid down entirely, his head on one of Lance’s oversized pillows. 

“Sorry I came here so late,” Keith murmured as Lance lowered the blankets. “And for waking you up.”

“Hey—” Lance started, shifting up close and tugging at Keith’s chin. He looked at Lance, and could barely make out the shape of his face beyond the shadows. Still, there was a glint in his eyes that told Keith were to look. “—I don’t mind. You’re here now. I was just overreacting a guess. That happens sometimes… overthinking things and all that.”

“You really thought I wouldn’t show up?” Keith whispered, a lump forming in his throat. “I made a promise to you—”

“Yeah, I know. Again, overreacting. It’s fine, Keith, I don’t mind,” he insisted, grinning as he nuzzled Keith’s nose. He crinkled up his eyes and pushed Lance a little. They laughed until Lance pecked his lips with a brief kiss. Keith faltered, his smile growing as he leaned in and pressed their lips together again. He melted against the hand Lance draped over his cheek, and cradled his jawline with. 

He breathed in sharply, cutting away for air. Lance pressed his forearm against Keith’s chest, pushing him back on the bed and leaning partially over him to meld their lips together again. Keith felt the unmistakable heat of anticipation boiling in his stomach when he thought about how absurdly foolish they were. Here he was, in Lance’s bed in the middle of the fucking night and no one knew about it—Coran never followed Keith around, figuring that he’d just be doing Keith’s work if he did so. So not even Coran knew about this.

And the thought thrilled him.

He pressed his hands against Lance’s hips and pushed them. In one swift movement, he rolled on top of Lance, eliciting a laugh from him, and then a sharp gasp when Keith’s cool fingers dipped under his shirt, and laid flat against the curve of Lance’s hipbones. He dotted Lance’s neck with open-mouthed kisses, leading to the collar of his nightshirt. 

“How are you even awake enough for this,” Lance groaned, his hands holding Keith’s still through the fabric of his shirt. He hesitated, dragging his lips up the arched curve of Lance’s neck before peering down at Lance’s half-lidded eyes. “Don’t get me wrong—I love this, but I _literally_ just woke up.”

“I forgot,” Keith said, smiling apologetically.

“ _Conveniently_ ,” he added, laughing. “Come here—I wanna kiss you one more time before we sleep.” 

Keith tipped his head in, and after a short, languid kiss, he rolled to the side and curled around Lance. “Goodnight,” he whispered, lips brushing against Lance’s shoulder. 

“‘Night…” he drawled. He tucked his head towards Keith’s hair, and they fell asleep like that.

  


  


The next morning Keith woke up to a lighter room, and the abrupt sound of something crashing through the door. He knew exactly what was going on, and in the time it took his heart to stop, he flattened himself against the blankets and disappeared.

Lance shrieked when one of his siblings bounded onto the bed tackled him. “Wake up! Time to wake up!” Sebastian screamed, yanking the covers back. Keith felt the cold instantly, and then Lance’s hand slapping on top of him only to realize— _Why the hell can I feel Keith, but not see him?_

Lance screamed again, throwing the blankets back and recoiling away from where Keith disappeared. Sebastian giggled, climbing on top of Lance’s lap. 

“We’re having Gran’s fancy oatmeal today! Hurry up and get dressed,” Sebastian exclaimed, shaking Lance hard enough to push him against Keith.

Keith held his breath and waited until Lance recovered enough to shoo Sebastian out to get dressed, just like any other morning. The second the door closed, Keith released his breath and turned over onto his back, heart racing as he pushed his hands over his face and waited in the silence. After a moment he peeled his hands off his face and peered over at where Lance stood, his hand still on the door handle. 

The room was massive to begin with, but the space between them felt like two countries, an ocean, and a city away.

“Wh-What was—” Lance started, dropping his hand for a second before bringing it up to his shirt. He crinkled it up in his fist. “You weren’t—how did you—”

“It was the first thing I could think of—I didn’t want your brother seeing me,” Keith said, pushing himself up against the headboard. 

Lance sputtered for a second, looking pale. “Y-You— _That_ was the first thing you think of?!” he exclaimed, dwindling into a harsh whisper. “Usually the first thing that comes to mind _doesn’t involve turning invisible_.”

“I didn’t turn invisible,” Keith groaned, rubbing his hands to his face. “It’s—I don’t know how to explain it. It’s just… distorting the area around me.”

Lance just blinked at him, looking a whole lot like Shiro when he was accusing Keith and Pidge of doing something wrong. He put his hands on his hips and said, “I was seriously just hoping you’d tell me I was just _seeing things_ and that you didn’t actually _disappear_.”

“I can do that if you want—”

“No, Keith, don’t,” Lance said, taking a step towards the bed. Keith’s knees went up, as if to brace himself. Lance saw the movement, and hesitated, his hands dropping from his hips. He looked down at his feet before gripping the frame at the end of the bed. “I shouldn’t be yelling at you,” he said quietly. 

Keith didn’t say anything. They stared at each other for a long while before Keith let his knees fall to the side. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and the tightness of his throat made the words shake in his mouth. “I-I’ll just—go.”

He hurried off the bed and towards his shoes. He couldn’t even fathom stopping to put his damn boots on—that would mean having steady hands and he was shaking terribly. He stuffed them into his bag and slipped the straps onto his shoulders before straying his eyes to Lance’s feet.

“I really don’t know anything about you,” Lance finally murmured, voice hitched. Keith’s brows tensed when he looked to meet Lance’s red eyes and tight lips. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth before taking a deep breath and saying, “Do you really not trust me? How could you _not tell me?_ ”

“It’s not really—” _something you tell people_ , he thought, his voice too uneven to finish the sentence.

“I don’t _care!_ I’m your boyfriend! You’d think you could confide in me but you won’t even talk about your scars or—or whatever _the hell just happened!_ ” he all but shouted, tears streaming. “I tell you everything!”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, tugging his shoes close to his chest. “I’m really sorry.”

Lance’s hands went to his face, and after swiping them against his cheeks he threw them down. “So are you just going to _leave_? Or are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?” he demanded, sharp enough to make Keith flinch. 

He just wanted to leave. He didn’t want to upset Lance any further. Lance wasn’t even _supposed to know_ —

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Keith begged. “It’ll j-just get you in trouble a-and Shiro and Pidge. Please don’t tell anyone.”

Lance glared at him—it wasn’t even a playful glare that Keith was used to. Keith ducked his head, shoulders tense. He couldn’t stand it. He cared too much about Lance to tell him everything—it would simply cause unnecessary anxiety. Lance wouldn’t thank him for that. 

He couldn’t tell if Lance planned on saying anything. They’d both been quiet for a minute before Keith stumbled for the window. He swung it open and climbed onto the sill. He didn’t bother making steps down considering how rushed he was to leave. 

The second his feet left the ledge, he heard Lance shriek. Keith dropped the two stories and landed with relative ease—the pressure on his knees seemed to shake him to his core, as if he wasn’t already shaking. He didn’t look back as he ran through the McClain’s back garden and over the gate.

  


  


“This isn’t personal, I hope you realize that,” Sendak was saying as Shiro walked him down the hall to his office. Keith and Pidge stayed by the stairway railing, watching Sendak’s men filter down the hall with him. One of them paused near them, but didn’t address them, and it certainly made Pidge wary. 

“Of course—you’re just doing your job,” Shiro said, calm as ever as he offered Sendak the first step into the room. The man laid a hand out to his officers, holding them back from entering. 

“Just a private meeting. I won’t need you for this,” Sendak reassured the men before heading into the office. Shiro glanced at the office, and then down the hall where Keith and Pidge peered around the corner at him. He turned away and shut the door behind him and Sendak. 

Keith straightened up, glancing at the officer near them before tugging Pidge with him. They crossed paths with the officer, but the man barely even glanced at them. He took that as the sign to high-tail it to the stairs and up to the second floor with Pidge in tow.

They hurried to Keith’s room, which was nearly above Shiro’s office, and searched for vents to listen through. Pidge groaned when they found his room clean, and no way to listen in on the conversation. “Do you think Sendak’s gonna arrest him?” Pidge asked quietly as she slumped onto Keith’s bed. 

“I-I don’t know,” he admitted, dropping down beside her. He rolled his head to the side, looking at her as she stared at the wall across the room. Her heavy glasses began to cloud up as she rubbed a hand under her nose. Instantly Keith sat up, registering that the skin under her eyes was starting to turn red. “Hey, don’t cry—”

“Well aren’t you just a smooth-talker. As if that’s gonna stop me from crying,” Pidge said, hastily nudging up her glasses to rub at her eyes. “ _If_ I was crying, that is. Which I’m _not_.”

“Right, of course you aren’t. You aren’t capable of any emotion other than spite,” Keith said, and she laughed. He grinned a little, looking down at his hands as Pidge set her glasses onto her lap and began to rub at them with the fabric of her sweater. “If they were here to take Shiro, they would have asked to talk to me, too.”

“I know, but I’m worried,” Pidge confessed. “I worry a lot, believe it or not.”

“I don’t know. You seem like a pretty, ‘who gives a shit’ kind of girl,” he admitted, and she chuckled a little. “I think… that Shiro’s gonna be fine. And if we believe he’s fine then he will be.”

“That’s a helluva lot of faith you’ve got there. Mind giving me some of that?” she said sarcastically, and he nudged her arm. “This isn’t something you can poof away with that placebo effect Lance talked about.”

“Maybe you can.”

“Stop being such an idealist. It doesn’t suit you as well,” she commented. He shrugged, tucking his hands between his knees. “Did something happen? Did you see Coran last night?” she asked, and Keith shook his head. After a moment of silence he rubbed a hand over his burning eye, which just seemed to make it worse. It felt like someone was pulling at the back of his eyeballs. 

“Lance and I got into a fight,” he whispered. “I don’t know i-if he’ll want to see me again after this morning.”

Pidge didn’t say anything for a moment before looking away and saying, “You’re over-exaggerating. Lance doesn’t hold grudges.”

Keith laughed a little, and cleared his throat. As if that would get the lump in his throat out. A hand fell on his back, and he jumped a little and looked at Pidge. She was turned away from him, her arm going around him. They leaned into one another and waited in silence for the storm to pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I move back into my dorm tomorrow! Which should be exciting, considering I haven't had ANY time to write these past few days. I plan on renovating _And Other Curious Creatures_ to be a non-fanfic thing and post it to my semi-professional writing portfolio on [Wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/user/-SarahCorner-). I'm gonna keep it hella gay since it will be my first MxM piece on there whiCH IS GREAT because I can't believe it too me so long to get into writing gay main characters. I want to change parts of it that didn't quite translate well from Voltron. Not every aspect in Voltron can be translated into fantasy, lemme tell ya.
> 
>  **Tell me your two favorite male names** because I need to start thinking of alternate names for the Voltron peeps. I really like the name Rae Marlowe for Pidge. RAE MARLOWE RAE MARLOWE RAE MARLOWE.


	12. Triad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith has decisions to make, necks to break, and a whole lot at stake.

The second they observed Shiro walking Sendak to the foyer and out the door, Keith and Pidge were waiting for him to come back inside. Pidge was mumbling about how Shiro hadn’t been cuffed or anything like that, so the chances of him being arrested were low. “But what if he went willingly? You’d think he’d at least say goodbye to us, right?” Pidge groaned aloud, dragging her hands down her face.

Keith shuddered. He wasn’t sure what to think. Sendak rubbed him the wrong way anyways, but he could see why Shiro and Sendak were friends. They may not have had a whole lot in common politics wise, but they were friends even before Shiro’s wife was assassinated. Sendak knew Shiro incredibly well based off their common hobbies, conversation topics, religious beliefs. And on top of it, they knew just about everyone in high society. They could gossip all they wanted, and according to Shiro, without worrying about the other blabbing about it.

They stepped back as soon as they heard the handle turn. Pidge scurried as far as the railing, as if expecting Sendak’s men to come back for her, but she released a thrilled scream when Shiro reappeared and shut the door behind him. “You came back!” she shrieked, jumping off the stair and lunging into his arms. She latched her legs around his torso as Shiro staggered in, laughing. 

“Yes, everything is fine for now. Sendak just came to inform me one of my tenants was involved in this and that against the King. He’s required to inform me of my tenants misconduct—specifically if they are unable to pay rent,” Shiro explained, carrying Pidge as he walked towards the stairs, and where Keith stood, still worrying his lip between his teeth. 

Shiro combed his free hand over Keith’s hair, and a moment later Pidge unlinked her legs from around Shiro’s waist. “Don’t worry. Everything is fine,” he promised them.

But tears started to stream down Keith’s cheeks before he could even stop them. 

“I-I’m s-sorry—” he started, but Shiro shushed him and nudged Pidge up a step more, telling her to head to her room so he could talk to Keith. During the sort time it took for Pidge to run up the stairs, Keith tried to control himself, but the tension bubbling in his chest just felt like someone had taken a bullet and punctured it.

Shiro put his arm around Keith’s shoulders and led him to his office. They barely made it past the door before Keith told him where he went that previous night, and what happened that morning. 

“A-And I’m afraid o-of Sendak. He’ll take you and Pidge and the McClains because _Lance knows about me—_ ” Keith rambled, pacing the floor as Shiro stood near the door, waiting for Keith to get it out of his system. Keith ended by tugging at his hair and yelling, “I just don’t want to be here anymore!”

The second the words came out, he slapped his hands over his mouth and looked wide-eyed at Shiro. His father didn’t seem all that shocked, but he uncrossed his arms and stepped towards Keith. 

“I-I didn’t mean it. I love it here. I’m just… worried about getting you in trouble,” Keith insisted, ducking his head as Shiro’s feet came into view.

His father placed his hands over Keith’s shoulders and said, “It’s fine, I know what you meant.”

Keith pressed the top of his head to Shiro’s chest and stayed there for a while before saying, “I want to go to Allura’s. I won’t have to worry about you, and Lance won’t have to see me again.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Shiro sighed, his hands soothing up and down Keith’s back. “But if that’s what you want, I won’t stop you. You have to visit Pidge and I though.”

Keith pulled back a bit to look up at Shiro, to see if he was being truthful. “I promise I’ll visit,” he vowed, voice finally even again. “And I promise I’ll be good.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll be sure Allura doesn’t leave you at one of her brothels again,” Shiro said, chuckling when Keith frowned up at him.

  


  


So Keith moved back onto the fourth floor of Allura’s brothel. It happened that afternoon, and Keith encouraged Shiro to let Pidge see the place. It was slow in the afternoon, and it wouldn’t be likely that there would be any clients until later on around mealtime. Shiro had the driver pull up a block away, and they traveled through the alleyway behind Allura’s building. Keith hurried ahead and knocked on the back door, which was heavily locked and monitored by a guard. The guard slid the viewing slot open, and instantly Keith could see the man’s eyes crinkle with a smile.

“Keith, my boy, how are you?” the guard hollered.

Keith grinned back, “I’m fine. Is Allura around?”

“Not tonight—what’s this about?” he asked, noting the small ginger head coming into view at Keith’s shoulder-level. Pidge peered up at the slot and waved. “Who are you, miss?”

“You can call me Pidge,” she said. 

“She’s my sister,” Keith explained, and the guard hummed knowingly before letting the slot slide closed. Pidge scowled at the door and looked at him for an explanation. “He’s unlocking the door,” he said.

Shiro approached slowly behind them, staring up at the second floor before looking over at them. He discretely pulled Pidge closer to him as the door opened up. The guard smiled out at them and nodded Keith in. Pidge leapt forward, only to be held back by Shiro’s hand on her arm. Keith hesitated when the guard said, “Whoa, hey, I can’t let you in ‘less you’re on the Madame’s list.”

Keith turned back to find Shiro being held back, and likewise, so was Pidge. “Oh, no, he’s my father—” he started, hurrying back to them. The guard looked at Keith and then back at Shiro and shook his head.

“Sorry, buddy—either way I can’t let him in. The workers wouldn’t appreciate strangers coming in and out the backdoor,” the guard said apologetically, and took his hand off Shiro’s chest with a gesture that said, “What can I do?”

“It’s fine. You’re just doing your job,” Shiro said stepping back before realizing that he still had a death grip on Pidge’s arm. He let go and added, “I will just stay here. You… go ahead. Stay close to Keith and _don’t touch anything—_ ”

“Hey, I’ll be fine,” Pidge laughed, waving him off with a scoff and marching into the building, passing the guard and Keith. “My father let me into a brothel and I’m not even thirteen! Alright!”

Shiro sighed outside the door, passing the last suitcase over to Keith. “Please make sure she doesn’t touch anything…” he begged, and Keith vaguely agreed.

Keith caught up to Pidge and slowed her down with a hand on the back of her jacket. “We aren’t going down this way—we gotta go to the service stairs. I’ll introduce you to some of the workers, but stay on track. Please.”

“Fine, whatever. I _guess_ I’ll follow the rules,” she moaned as she spun back around and waddled back the way they came. They took a sharp turn and walked down to where the service stairs started in a nook near the far corner of the building. Keith led her up the several flights of stairs, avoiding the doors off to the side of them, until arriving at the fourth floor beneath the steepled roof. 

Keith riffled through his key ring—the one that also opened the safe house door—and unlocked the room. It was just as empty as last time, and looked exactly as he left it. Even the blankets were tucked in just like his last time there. 

Pidge looked around the room as she meandered over to the bed and set Keith’s bag down. He placed his two suitcases on the foot of the mattress, and brushed his hands off. “So this is where you stayed?” she commented, walking over to the bathroom to peer inside. She turned on the light, and a delayed second later, it flickered on.

“Yeah. I mean, it’s nothing like the estate but it works,” Keith said, staring at the suitcases on the bed for a minute longer before it finally registered that Pidge was running all around, looking out his window, under the bed, in the drawers of his dresser. “It’s, uh, a spare bedroom. Allura doesn’t use it at all—”

“It’s so cute! And quaint and modest,” she gushed. “Though the electricity needs some work…”

“It’s an old building—don’t complain about it,” Keith snapped, rushing over and grabbing her by the wrist. “Now come on, I’ll show you around. The hostesses will be working—you want to meet them?”

“Of course I do!” she exclaimed, grin expanding as Keith led her down the flights of stairs to the first floor.

He navigated them down the side hall—the one draped in tapestries and paintings. They stopped to observe several of them before Keith finally pulled her into the open waiting room. Just as he suspected, there weren’t any clients sitting around, so Keith showed her around the room. It was lavishly decorated, with masterfully painted portraits of Allura’s predecessors.

“This was one of the first brothels she purchased,” Keith explained. “It’s older, and wasn’t so highly esteemed back in the day. She invested a lot of money, cleaning the place up and all that.”

“Interesting…” she drawled, dragging her hand against the tabletop until Keith pulled it off, remembering their father’s request. She glared at him, but kept her hands to herself.

They walked around the thin red tapestries lining the entryway, and found themselves in the foyer. In the afternoon light, everything seemed brighter, but equally appealing. The brothel had its own unique appeal for each part of the day, and that particular day, the foyer felt… open. There were second story windows illuminating the area from above, and highlighting the intricate patterns on Allura’s exotic rug. There were was a woman standing behind a tall, narrow desk, seeming to be doodling in her pastime with her companion standing across from her, his arms draped over the surface. When they noticed Pidge and Keith, they perked up and the woman slid off her seat.

“Keith!” she squealed, dashing to him instantly. He beamed at her, recognizing her instantly.

“Dalia! How are you?” he asked, accepting her hug, and another embrace from the male hostess. The man noted Pidge and gave her a pat on the head. She beamed up at him.

“I’m as well as I can be. What brings you by? We weren’t expecting you,” she commented, hand on her hip as she leaned against the desk. “Allura usually tells us if you’re coming around. Everyone misses you—little trips don’t do any good, you know. It just makes us miss you more.”

“Evidently so,” he laughed, and tugged Pidge a bit closer, “This is Dalia and Amor. Dalia and Amor, this is Pidge. She’s my sister.”

They both gave her charming smiles and shook her hand. She stared at them in awe, and the elegant costumes they wore. They were modest enough, but their formfitting nature left little to the imagination. Keith knew that the afternoon held a much calmer atmosphere. Their makeup wasn’t nearly as dramatic as it might be later that night as well.

“So this is the one you tell us about,” Amor commented, and Pidge instantly blushed and waved him off.

“What’d he tell you? About how awful I am?”

“Nothing of the sort, I promise,” the man laughed. “Has he been showing you around?”

“A little. We just dropped his things off upstairs,” she explained, and their eyes widened. Dalia looked to Keith again, who pursed his lips and looked the other way.

“I’m moving in again. I don’t know how long for but… I still have to talk to Allura about it,” he explained, reaching up to tug at his hair when he felt their eyes on him. He could tell they were trying to piece together the story. Last time was to get Iverson’s eyes off of him and to train, so what could it be this time?

“Well, we’ll give you a good word. I’d love to have you back, and I’m sure the others will to,” Dalia said, to which Amor added, “Of course we would!”

The tension in Keith’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and a sliver of a smile came to his lips. Dalia soothed her hand over his arm and tugged him in for a side-hug. He dragged Pidge over and squeezed her against his hip. He laughed a little, his heart aching even now, when Pidge hadn’t even left yet. Somehow he knew he’d miss her terribly. Enough to visit the estate two days from then simply because he couldn’t bear to live weeks without Pidge’s ridiculous jokes and maniacal laughter.

After he walked Pidge through the rest of the building that was open to them, he took her back to the back door where Shiro was still waiting in the alley. Keith gave him one last fervent hug that showed just how much he cared for his adopted father. Keith wanted the best for them, and this would just have to do.

  


  


“There’s more to mimicry than camouflage—and while not many have the skills _you_ have, others have the second half,” Coran explained, and upon the slight tilt of Keith’s head, he continued. “There are actually three parts to it—you have been exercising the third piece every time you exert the limits of your body. It comes with exercising your filters, among other things. The fact that you survived in Rollo’s gang is on account of the fact that mimics have durable bodies from the start. I imagine any other kid who went through the same beating wouldn’t have lived the first night.”

“So essentially I’m just… getting tougher?” Keith said, brows pinching together. “That doesn’t make sense. How would we _know_ when I haven’t been in any serious fights yet? I’ve barely gotten scratched since Sylvester pounded my face in a while back.”

“Yes, but as your physical strength and stamina increase, your recovery period also improves. When you exercise your muscular system, you are also testing the limits of your respiratory and immune systems. The time you take to catch your breath years ago has been decreasing gradually—just from simply exercising your abilities. It is all based around your incredible recuperation, something people like myself, and normal people, fail to accomplish.

“Camouflage filters aside, it is perhaps the most drastic difference between mimics and other beings. It is something not even sorcerers are capable of, well, _mimicking_. They’ve found tricks to replicate filters, but nothing quite as substantial as a mimic’s instinctual ones,” Coran explained, but Keith was still reeling from a previous point his mentor made.

He perched himself on the edge of Coran’s work table and studied Coran for a moment. His mentor returned to work, waiting for Keith to gather his thoughts. When the question finally came to him, Keith’s eyes widened at the thought.

“You excluded yourself from ‘normal people,’” Keith commented, and Coran nodded. 

“Yes, that is correct.”

“Then… what are you? Now that I think of it, Allura never… _explained_ why you were so knowledgable about mimics. Do you even know any personally, aside from myself?” he asked, intrigue rising as Coran raised his eyes up to meet his. _No, Coran couldn’t possibly be a mimic_ , Keith thought. It didn’t make sense, because Coran always said he couldn’t throw up filters himself. He just knew how they worked.

But how did he learn in the first place?

“What’s the second part of the skill set?” Keith demanded. “I have all three parts, but you said that _some people_ have the second part. Is that you?”

Coran grinned, and Keith decided that Coran never would have told him had he not come to that conclusion himself.

At this, Coran stood up and went to the set of cabinets across the room, aside from the dummies Keith practiced on. His mentor pulled out a labeled map and pinned it to the wall. Keith scowled at it—his usual thinking-face that Coran was far too used to to be put off by. “From there, please read this town name here,” Coran said.

Keith continued to glare. Coran knew he hated reading tests, even ones as simple as this. In the end he rolled his eyes, crossed his arms, and stared blankly at the map across the room. “I don’t know… Therion?”

“Close. It’s Imora,” he said, and Keith slapped his hands down in frustration. “That isn’t unusual. It’s hard to practice the second piece without knowing it exists sometimes. I’m sure you’ve noticed bits of it—times where you don’t even need to use your spyglass in places you usually would. Say… spying on the McClain estate?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he deadpanned. “Get to the point.”

“Come over here and pick a town,” his mentor commanded, pointing for Keith to stand nearby. They switched places, and Keith randomly slapped his hand onto the map and instantly Coran, perched on the work table, said, “Anselnor.”

Keith looked at it and groaned. “You probably have this map memorized.”

“Fine then. Pick a random book out and open to a page,” Coran said, and when Keith didn’t move, he said, “I’ll wait here until you do.”

Beyond annoyed, Keith grabbed a book from the cabinet and skimmed through the pages. He purposefully picked a religious tome because he knew Coran only kept those for unofficial tossing-targets. There were several holes in this one from knives. He picked a page near the middle that wasn’t shredded and held it up.

Coran recited the first two lines before Keith was convinced. The man hadn’t even squinted to read it. “Enhanced eyesight?” Keith asked.

“ _Better_. Imagine being able to smell the perfume of a man’s mistress—two doors away,” he said, and Keith’s eyebrow quirked up. “Scent is the hardest to get down because you don’t tend to focus on it. It’s mostly trial through taste, which is easily translated into scent. It’s useful to know what someone has eaten recently, just but a slight whiff of their breath or not even that. I’ve used it to peg the favorite meal of a hit in order to poison an ingredient within that meal.”

“Incredible,” Keith breathed, stepping over and sitting beside Coran. “So you have enhanced sensed? That must be why you’re such an excellent assassin.”

“And also excellent at picking out mimicry filters,” he added, which silenced Keith for a moment. He studied his kneecaps as Coran said, “Not telling you gave you a larger incentive to improve your filters. I’ve lied several times by going off of your heartbeat rather than seeing the distortion. To an unsuspecting halfling, you will always have the upper hand with your filters. They would most likely have to be focusing on simple details—your breath, the fabric on your clothes, your heartbeat.”

“So people like you are called ‘halflings’?” Keith said after a moment, looking at Coran’s feet as he swung them back and forth.

“Yes. There are other slangs for us, but I much prefer the halfling term. There are more halflings than mimics, of course, but no matter what we will likely be the smallest division. Combined we do not nearly make up the population of people with glamours, or sorcerers. It is unfortunate, though, because unlike mimicry and glamours, sorcery isn’t inherited. It can be taught to anyone willing to try, but Haggar has made her teachings exclusive. So the practice isn’t all that common outside of her cult,” he explained, voice dimming unusually.

Quiet fell over them for the minute it took them both to recollect their thoughts. Keith considered the possibility of sorcery—if Coran was correct, then it could be possible for him to learn sorcery on the side. But it seemed like his mentor’s tactic was to funnel Keith’s teachings towards mimicry. He had to master that before all else.

“How do you recommend I go about improving my senses?” Keith asked. “Is it a gradual thing, or does it just sort of… click?”

“It’s gradual. A click would _certainly_ render you blind, deaf, and numb all at the same time,” Coran laughed, giving Keith a harsh pat on the back. “The most irritating of all is touch, because you start to feel all the wrinkles in your clothes—it makes your uniform seem like a blessing. It hardly makes a sound, even to refined ears like mine, and it’s like wearing a cloud. My shirt is made of the same material—you want to feel?”

“No, I think I’m good,” Keith confessed, nose scrunching up.

“It is the most expensive fabric you will find—just give it a feel.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Well you’re no fun, are you? Next time, when you ask for all your clothes to be made of this material, don’t ask _me_ for help,” he said, sticking his nose up as he jumped from the work table. Keith rolled his eyes as Coran pinched his fingers around his bright ginger mustache and took a look around the room. “Come to think of it, I take that back. Even your laziest clothes can’t save you from this. We have created a monster out of you by insisting you care about your apparel.”

“Well, I’m not sure if that’s what you consider a _monster_ …” Keith started, but Coran shook a finger at him.

“But you can’t ignore the fact that you _change out of your pajamas_ even if you don’t see anyone that day. You could be wearing your pajamas all day.”

“I used to do that, but Pidge yelled at me for it,” he confessed, ducking his head. His pajamas were always so comfortable. He never imagined that there were clothes specifically made for comfort until Allura gifted his pajama pants to him. It was unfortunate because he was growing out of them now.

“Well, in any case, being conscious of it should help. Focus on one sense at a time—the rest will follow suit,” Coran said, gesturing for Keith to follow him. He led Keith up the stairs to the safe house door, and opened it for him. “Keep an eye on Sendak. I have a feeling he’ll be a problem.”

“He’s already taken one of Shiro’s tenants,” he said. “And I have no clue whether or not he’ll go straight for Shiro now.”

“Not directly, no. It’s likely Sendak will avoid that outcome for as long as he can. But the strings always connect—he’ll find a way to Allura one way or another,” his mentor said solemnly, reaching into his back pocket. Keith stood on the threshold, and held out his hand for the object Coran dropped into it. “Use this on him if things go bad. Cover your mouth with the hood fabric—it’s the thickest material on your uniform for purposes like these, to block out fumes,” he said.

Keith clutched the bottle in his hand, recognizing the shape of it from their many experimental draughts. “I will. I’ll take care of him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Lance won't be missing long.


	13. Owls

As it turned out, that day Coran gave him the poison was a day too late. Keith perched himself atop the palace wall, waiting for the chance to follow Sendak out. He and his men departed from the gates, and Keith followed them on an awfully familiar track that made him falter on the rooftop he spent so much time sitting on. 

Nights were the times Sendak struck—daytime seemed to be safe for the people he visited, as far as Keith could tell. Shiro was a testament to that. So when Sendak spoke with the guards outside of the McClain estate, Keith bristled furiously. He and Coran had been planning this for weeks now—ever since Sendak was first appointed, actually. But now just seemed horribly convenient for him to take the man out for good.

Keith dropped down from the roof and swiftly climbed the McClain estate wall. He swung his feet over just as the guards let Sendak’s men pass. Keith ran through the backyard gardens in the time it took the officer vehicles to reach the front door of the mansion.

It was dark—dark enough for Lance to be asleep at this time, but Keith didn’t skip a beat throwing up invisible bricks and climbing up to the second floor window. He knocked on it loud, his gloves muffling it a tad. He saw Lance’s blankets shift, and he sat up, squinting from the bed.

“Come on! Open up,” Keith pleaded, slamming his hand harder on the window, making the glass shake against the frame. 

Lance didn’t move for a solid minute before grudgingly getting up and heading towards the window. Keith stopped hammering on it, gripping the ledge as he studied the dull, tired expression on Lance’s face coming closer. He reached for the side of the window, and yanked the curtain closed.

“ _Come on!_ ” Keith hissed, keeping his voice down as he registered voices coming from the side of the house. His owls were probably surveying the house. 

He yanked out his revolver with the heavy metal barrel and secured the handle in his grip before slamming it against Lance’s window. He heard Lance curse as Keith broke away the glass and clamored through, hissing at the sting of glass shards against his legs. 

“Y-You just broke my window—holy shit that’s a gun—” Lance squeaked.

“Quit being stubborn,” he snapped. “Sendak’s here to arrest your family, so _listen to me—_ ”

They both quieted at the sound of a voice rising below the window. Breaking the glass was a shit idea, but at least he was talking to Lance before it got worse. He turned back to Lance, who was staring at the window and then back at Keith. “I promise I’m not lying when I say that you _need_ to get out of here,” Keith told him slowly, quietly. “If I take care of the guys down there, do you trust me to carry you down?”

“Wh-What about my parents?” he stammered, brows arching in distress.

Just then Keith heard the telltale sign of footsteps approaching the door. Keith held a hand up to Lance, crossing paths with him and heading for the door. His footsteps didn’t make a sound as he approached it, listening to the tail end of “—in here.”

The handle turned, and Keith strained to hear like Coran told him to. He couldn’t be sure how many people were on the other side of the door, so he swapped his revolver for a knife. 

“If you let me talk to him—”

“Be quiet—this is the last of them. Take McClain to the car,” the man said, and instantly Lance’s father resisted, shouting loudly as the door opened fully. Keith waited, following the motion of the opening door with his feet. The man noticed that Lance was standing at the broken window, staring between Keith and the intruder.

Keith’s shoulders prickled as he willed a filter to cover him. The man entered, talking low to Lance, and another came in shortly after. It was just the two intruders then.

He rippled back into focus in time to jab the handle of his dagger into the man’s throat, yank him back by the shoulder, and slam the jagged end of the knife between the ridges of his ribcage. The gurgling cry called the attention of his partner, as well as the shriek that came out of Lance’s mouth.

“H-Holy shit!” he screamed, but it was covered by the intruder sneering, “ _You—_ ”

Keith didn’t say a word. He crouched as the intruder yanked out the pistol on his belt. At that moment, Keith disappeared, and dropped to the ground as the man fired off a round of bullets across the wall above his head. He rolled forward as the man cursed, shouting, “Where the hell’d he go!”

Keith rose slowly as the man darted forward. He stuck out his foot and tripped the intruder before coming back into focus. It was hard to maintain a filter during sharp movements, such as the strike Keith made to the man’s back. He yanked the pistol from the man’s hand, and bent his arm back. 

The intruder let out a cry when Keith singled out a finger and pushed it back. “Y-You’re Shirogane’s boy,” he said. “ _Zarkon will kill him for hiding an im—_ ”

Keith swiftly jabbed his blade through the man’s lower back, and yanked it out with a squelch. He heard Lance squeak somewhere behind him, even above the painful cry the man let out. One last cut to the throat silenced the intruder. 

He rubbed the dirtied edges of his blade against the fabric of the man’s uniform before rising and pocketing the knife. The silence was overwhelming, so Keith asked, “Where’s the best place for you to hide here?”

When Lance didn’t respond, Keith looked over at him, and his chest constricted at the sight of tears glistening down his cheeks. The ache only increased when Keith took a step towards him, and Lance took a step back. 

“M-My father…” Lance started, heaving in a shaky breath. He couldn’t continue.

“I’ll get him and your siblings,” Keith promised without hesitation. “But I need you to _hide_. Where’s a good place to hide?”

Lance blinked quickly, looking around before rubbing both hands against his face. “Um… d-down the hall. There’s a servant’s hall th-that’s connected to the attic.”

“Good. Now come on, I’ll keep you safe,” Keith said, holding out a hand to him. Lance looked at it for a moment before accepting the offer and letting Keith lead him out the open door.

The hallway was relatively empty, except for farther down near the stairs. Keith looked both ways before hurrying Lance ahead of him, urging him to run ahead to the servant’s door. The instant they were out in the open, an owl shouted from the top of the stairs. Keith pulled out three throwing knives as the man ran for them, quickly accompanied by the other officers at the bottom of the stairs.

Even with all the nerves in the pit of Keith’s stomach, he still managed to land the first of the throwing knives. It sunk into the meat where the man’s shoulder met his neck, and he staggered back and collapsed against the wall, dropping an instant later. Keith tossed another, and with his target so far off, he barely managed to nick the man’s uniform. He threw the other, at the man just reaching the top of the stairs. It gave him enough time to recover a dagger and dodge the approaching man’s attack.

He slashed at the man’s stomach, slicing through the heavy material before swinging his foot up and kicking him, foot against his wound. The officer shouted curses at him, grabbing for Keith’s arm. Keith slammed his other fist against the man’s stomach, knocking the breath out of the officer. The man recoiled in, against the knee Keith slammed up. 

The officer fell to the side unconscious.

Keith’s heart was racing, and he never felt so dizzyingly conscious before. The rush of exerting the constant practice Keith had with Coran was… _exhilarating_. 

“Keith—” 

He turned to where his name was called, back down the hall where Lance was standing at the opening of the servant hallway. They both seemed to hesitate, and Keith wondered just how much of a mess he was to make Lance falter like that. “A-Are you coming with?” he asked meekly. 

Keith glanced over at the stairs, knowing more officers would come, but hurried over to Lance anyways. He leaned a hand on the open door, smiling grimly at Lance. “I need to find your family. You’ll be fine—just stay quiet and out of sight.”

A shriek sounded below them, through the vents at their feet. Lance’s hands went to his mouth at the sound of it—it was high-pitched and childlike, and Keith recognized it instantly. He pulled away to follow after it, but not before Lance yanked him back by the shoulder. He spun back around, and practically ran straight into Lance’s lips with his own. 

When he pulled away a second later, Lance said, “Please don’t die.”

“Same goes for you,” Keith said, smirking as he stepped back and turned on his heels at a full-out sprint.

  


  


Keith swung across the railing post at the bottom of the stairs. His feet connected with the jaw of the officer coming for him, and instantly he heard the shrill wail from Lance’s younger brother. Sebastian squirmed between the two owls holding him still, and cried out, “ _Keith!_ Get them off me!” just as Keith clobbered one of the officer’s across the face. The force was hard enough that when the man slammed against the ground, his head hit the marble and he fell unconscious.

Sebastian’s hand was freed, and he instantly clawed at the arm of the other officer. Despite the pain of having a child’s nails dig into his skin, the man managed to unlatch his pistol from his belt fast enough to fire at Keith.

He was moving fast enough at the time to avoid the bullet. He swung his foot hard and fast, yelling for Sebastian to duck, and an instant later his foot connected with the officer’s face. His ankle ached afterwards, but the collision was enough to knock the man away from Sebastian.

Keith kicked the man’s stomach and held him down with a knee to the chest. He pulled out a dagger and sunk it behind the man’s ear, and soon blood pooled from the spot. It was discrete enough so Sebastian didn’t see.

“Keith!” he cried out, sobbing as he threw his arms around Keith’s neck. He twisted around to grab the boy around the waist and heave him up onto his hip. “Th-They took mama a-and—”

“Yes, I know. I’m going to take you to Lance now, all right?” Keith murmured to him. “Can you stay quiet for me?” The boy nodded, lips trembling and cheeks stiff with tear tracks. Keith tightened his grip on Seb as he hurried up the stairs, knowing it was only a matter of time before Sendak came in to look for Seb and Lance. He wondered if Sendak would leave without them—clearly he knew the both of them existed. He’d be looking for them.

Seb tucked his damp face against the crook of Keith’s neck, bypassing the hood that partially obscured his face. Keith glanced down the hall briefly, back towards the stairs, before tugging open the servant door and disappearing through it.

“ _Lance_ ,” Keith hissed, jumping lightly when the door shut behind them. They were suddenly cloaked in darkness, and Keith’s heart seized up for a moment. He hated this nothingness—there wasn’t a single source of light until something creaked up ahead, and the faintest sliver of light protruded from one of the walls ahead. 

Keith hurried towards it, nearly tripping on an uneven floorboard. An instant later someone’s silhouette appeared in the light, and the long hair told him that it wasn’t Lance. He skidded to a halt and freed a hand to hold out a knife. 

The girl shushed him quickly, voice shaking, “Sir, it’s just me—I-I’m a servant here.”

He lowered the knife, and when Seb pulled away to reach for her, Keith knew he could trust her. He let Seb run towards her, and asked, “Have you seen Lance?”

“Yes, he’s with several other kitchen aids up in the attic, sir,” she whispered, holding Seb to her hip. “Follow me—”

“I can’t—I have to find the rest of the McClains—”

He saw the light catch on her hair as she shook her head. “We’ve been watching through the window. Their car left not long ago—they’ll likely search the servant halls next, to find Master Lance and Sebastian.”

“I want Lance,” Sebastian pleaded, tugging at the shoulders of her dress. She murmured for him to lower his voice as Keith leant his back against the wall, arms sagging and grip limp around the dagger. He knew exactly where they would be taking the rest of the McClains—Lance’s mother and father, his two sisters. 

“I have to go after them,” he said finally, about to turn when the girl hissed for him to stop.

“Wait, please—you have to help us,” she begged. “They’ll eventually find the entrance to the attic. I never learned t-to defend myself or other people for that matter, sir. Please…”

Keith was glad she couldn’t see his face. He wasn’t sure what exactly his expression said anyway, aside from the fact that he was stressed beyond belief. He couldn’t hold off all of the officers, plus whatever backup Sendak would call for. It didn’t take a genius to find out that someone trained to kill was taking out his owls, and Sendak would be tempted to find the scoundrel and put Keith to rest.

Unless—

Keith was able to get them some place safe.

“Take me to the attic,” he demanded, and the girl nodded swiftly, hurrying back down the corridor where the light came from.

They hurried up a narrow staircase that bent around a corner and was dotted with a single, small window that was the faint source of light. At the top of the stairs there was a trapdoor that she knocked on. The instant it was opened, Sebastian cried out at the sight of Lance standing over them. Lance ducked down and took him from the girl’s arms and clung onto him tightly. The girl crawled up with the help of one of the kitchen aids, who then leant a hand to Keith. He didn’t take it simply because he could already start to see the red on his hands.

“Keith! I—are you okay? You’re bleeding,” Lance said, the concern in his voice causing Keith’s insides to spiral. He looked down at himself, feeling dizzy as he stepped away from the trapdoor. As far as he could tell, he wasn’t hurting anywhere.

“No, I’m fine. It must not be my blood,” he confessed, wiping his hands off on his trousers. He pocketed the knife in his hand and buttoned the sheath. “She said the rest of your family was taken in one of Sendak’s cars.”

“Yeah—but you got Sebastian. Thank you,” he said, smiling up from where he’d been nuzzling his younger brother. Keith watched him with wide eyes, wondering how it was possible for Lance to be so genuinely thankful. Keith killed officers in front of him, knocked out several others to get to Sebastian—and on top of it, the rest of his family was gone. 

“I-I know where he’s taking them,” he said, clearing his throat afterwards. “One of Sendak’s tenants was taken, and I followed them to the palace. There’s a tunnel that probably leads to a secured prison of sorts. I haven’t investigated it yet—”

“ _Yet_?” Lance hissed. “You can’t _trespass_ through the King’s palace, are you insane?”

_That wasn’t really what I was worrying about_ , Keith mused. He was more concerned with the security in the prison. It had to be heavily guarded, considering it was _in the palace_. If a prisoner were to escape, they’d be one step closer to Zarkon.

“How do you know this, sir?” one of the servants asked. “Aren’t you Lord Shirogane’s son?”

“Technically, yes,” Keith started slowly. “But I work for someone else. I imagine Sendak took your family either because of me, or because your father is involved with my employer.”

“I never told anyone,” Lance insisted, shaking his head. “And I know my father wasn’t entirely loyal to Zarkon… but that doesn’t mean he was involved with anyone else. Who are we talking about?”

Keith hesitated, his hands clenching at his sides as he wondered just how much he was putting these people in danger. They were better off not knowing—should they be captured. 

A voice spoke up from behind Lance, “Do you mean Madame Allura?” 

“How do you know her?” he demanded instantly, stepping around Lance to look at the man who spoke up. Keith’s harsh command seemed to make the man wary until a hand pulled Keith back by the shoulder. “Seriously, _tell me_ —it might have something to do with the reason Sendak even came here in the first place,” Keith hissed, shaking off Lance’s hand.

The man stuttered for a moment before saying, “A-A lot of the kids who work the lands used to be in gangs that Madame Allura kept sheltered. I’m a bit too old to be considered apart of it, but I used to be on the streets ‘fore Master McClain took me in. I’ve heard the name ‘round the fields—some of the boys still do runs for their past gangs. Strong-arms an’ such.”

“A lot? How many do you mean when you say ‘a lot’?” Keith asked, eyes wide. 

The man shrugged before the girl spoke up, “The way Master McClain’s fields work is by promoting elder workers to keep the young ones on the field—easier and faster, ya know. The outer fields are worked by younger folks from the slums—‘bout thirty or so, I’d say.”

Keith paled, turning away from them and putting a sticky hand to his head before realizing that it was still coated in drying blood. After a moment he heard Sebastian’s feet touch the ground, and Lance came around to look at Keith. “What is it? What’s so important about the workers?” he asked.

He inhaled briefly before saying, “It means that… if Sendak hasn’t already, he’ll find all the kids who’ve been in a gang sheltered by Allura. We need to get them out of here. Street kids stay clear of owls and Allura keeps the shelters hidden so the commander’s owls can’t find ‘em—”

“‘Owls’?” Lance repeated.

The servant girl turned her eyes away from Keith and murmured, “It’s street slang for officers, sir. So they don’t know what the street kids are talking about. It’s like a codeword, sir.”

It was like all Keith’s blood rushed straight to his stomach the longer Lance stared at him. He knew Lance was piecing it all together—how could he not? Now Lance knew that the kids in the fields used to be in gangs. One of the many correlations Keith had with them were the swatches on his back.

“How many of you are there?” Keith asked, changing the subject quickly. They counted quickly came came up with eight—not including Keith. “Right, okay… and how many exits are there on the house?”

“There’s the front, the back patio, the sunroom…” Lance listed, ticking them off on his fingers.

“The kitchen door, the basement storm door, the servant’s exit,” one of the kitchen aids added.

“Storm door?” Keith repeated, and the servants nodded. “Is it like one of those tornado rooms?”

“Yes. It’s near the servant’s exit—just a few steps below it, in a different room,” the girl said. “We could probably make it there through the servant halls if we move quickly. It’s a straight shot down to the first floor, but then we have to make a detour through the kitchens.” Keith nodded, and as they agreed on the plan, he lifted the trap door to the attic and led the way downwards.

Their footsteps creaked down each of the steps, the noise loud enough to make Keith cringe. Any other time he could have kept quiet, but with a horde of eight people behind him, it was rather hard to stay hidden. They came to the blank, dark hallways, and Keith let himself be led by the servant girl. He stayed as close to her as possible, a knife ready at his hip with his other hand on her shoulder. At each corner, Keith urged them all to stop, and he listened for footsteps through the wall, or down the corridor, around the corner. 

The servant halls wove between the middle rooms within the mansion, and broke away only when hallways cut between them. During that time, Keith pulled the servant girl back and listened against the door. He waited to pick up on the search parties before letting them all out. 

He stayed out in the hallway as they all filed past. In the dim light of the hallway, Lance passed him, Sebastian clinging to his hand, and Keith gave him a reassuring smile. It probably came out as a grimace.

There were three kitchen aids left when a shadow fell at the end of the corridor. Instantly a voice shouted out, “ _Sir! They’re over—!_ ” 

His voice cut out into a sharp, gurgling scream the second Keith’s hand shot out from his pocket. His throwing knife launched across the hallway and struck the man’s throat. A thick spray of red sputtered out from around the cut as Keith turned to the startled workers. “ _Go_ , quickly. I’ll be right behind you. Don’t wait for me, _just go_ ,” he hissed.

They scrambled into the hallway, and before leaving, the woman at the end of the trail turned to him and said, “I-It’s all the way down, turn left, an’ keep going. Kitchen’s at the end.”

“Thank you,” he said, shutting the servant door before running to the fallen officer. He bent down and yanked the flat handle of the throwing knife out of the man’s throat. Out of the corner of his eye he could see an owl coming for him, pistol raised and aimed until the second Keith fluttered out of focus, and dissolved against the patterned rug.

He slowly crawled to the nearest wall, holding himself crouched against it as the owl looked frantically around, stepping up to his comrade’s fallen body. From the hall Keith came out of, several more officers came in. There were five of them, and Keith’s breath whooshed out of him when he recognized Sendak among them. 

The man’s heavyset frame was a hard one to miss.

“H-He disappeared,” the owl said, lowering his gun.

“What the hell do you mean _‘disappeared’_?” Sendak hissed, marching up and staring down at the dead officer. “God dammit, which way’d the man go? What would you describe him as?”

“He isn’t a _man_ —he’s just a kid. I swear I’m not lying,” the owl insisted, and the other officers seemed to roll their eyes in annoyance. The entire ordeal was a disaster since Dean McClain’s son up and vanished.

Just then a woman was seen running up the hall to the intersection where Sendak and his officers collected. She approached saying, “One of your men who was injured—he’s awake now and claims he recognizes the assassin.”

Keith was halfway to the servant door when the woman said this, and instantly he was back to them. He swept his hood tighter around his face, clipping part of it over his mouth as he slowly, carefully, stepped around Sendak as the man shouted, “What’d he say? Who is it then?”

Keith’s fist went around Coran’s poison bottle, and before the woman could say a word, he swung his fist up sharply. The movement sent him rippling back into existence, just seconds before the bottle cracked on the ground and scattered poisonous smoke into the air. Even as it happened, he saw Sendak looked to him through the clouds, and lunge for him.

Keith ducked, but Sendak’s hefty fists grabbed the material of Keith’s uniform and heaved him into a nearby wall. He couldn’t get a decent angle, but managed to slam the pommel of his knife into Sendak’s side. The smoke was overwhelming, and Sendak coughed over him, barely in view now. 

Despite the hindrance, Sendak grappled for a hold on Keith’s throat, tearing the fabric off his face. His eyes were blurring against the gas, and he was certain Sendak wasn’t any better. The man’s hand yanked Keith’s knife away, so he went with his free hand and clawed at Sendak’s face. The act of shoving his thumb against the larger man’s mouth seemed familiar, especially when he instinctually went for Sendak’s left eye socket.

The man screamed between hoarse coughs. The second Keith’s hand was free, he yanked it up to his own mouth, heaving through a rough cough. His throat felt bloody and dry as Sendak fell against him on the wall, caging him in, and sending them both on the ground. 

“Y— _You_ —Allura… sent you—” Sendak hacked out, heavy fist crushing against Keith’s throat. He pushed Keith’s chin up, slamming his head weakly into the wall. They were close enough for Keith to feel the spittle fly off Sendak’s lips when he seethed, “ _Why do you look so familiar_?”

Keith’s teary eyes saw the blood gushing from Sendak’s eye before he gave a last-ditch effort and punched him across the face, forgetting it was the hand he held the knife in. It barely managed to graze Sendak’s cheek with the way Keith held it, but it would leave a mark on the man’s cheekbone, surely.

The man collapsed, unconscious, and Keith shakily scrambled out from under him. He feebly pulled the fabric over his mouth, but it wouldn’t do much good now. 

Keith was barely up to his knees when suddenly two hands grabbed him from under the arms and heaved him up. He would have fought back had he had function of his limbs. His feet dragged on the ground as the person pulled him down the hall where the air cleared significantly. A moment later the light from the corridor vanished, and he dropped onto the ground, throat raspy.

“Sh-Shit,” a familiar voice coughed, holding up his shirt over his mouth before letting it drop. Lance knelt over Keith and yanked him up so his back leant against Lance’s chest. “Hey, what the h- _hell_ was that?” he choked out.

Keith wheezed for a solid minute before catching a small breath to say, “P-Poison.”

“Oh great,” he huffed out, and looked back at the other servant who stayed with him. “Do you think you can get his feet? I’m feeling better now.”

The man agreed to it, and together they lifted Keith off the ground, and carried him through the servant hallways. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have classes tomorrow, and I am both thrilled and terrified that I have a Shakespeare class this semester. I'm especially terrified because I had to buy six Shakespeare pieces today and on top of it I have a $100 econ textbook to buy that ISN'T AT THE BOOKSTORE WTH.
> 
> In other news, I want to start thinking of new ideas and before I let my brain get the best of me, I made a survey for you guys! I want to know what YOU GUYS are into, and not just me because this is all just for the heck of it. 
> 
> **  
> [Click here to tell me what ya want from me next my dudes](https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/2CR8ZPL)  
>  **  
>  I'll let you guys know what the results turned out to be, if the survey goes well. Also, if you guys are looking for something that isn't on the list, there's parts where you can add comments, or just tell me here! :D


	14. Vandal

The smoke didn’t clear from the McClain hallways until long after Lance and his father’s workers carried Keith from the estate, along with every last one of the field laborers. Keith was conscious enough to rasp out the name of a familiar harbor where he woke up the next morning, surrounded by the eyes of rugged-looking children masked with soot and grime. 

All of his limbs felt like they used to—sore from overexertion. The kids around him didn’t seem willing to help, mostly in fear of touching him and being reprimanded for it. He remembered those days, and how prestigious people on the streets seemed untouchable—except to be pick-pocketed, that is. 

He heaved himself up into a seated position, squinting at the light drifting through the river-side opening of the abandoned building. It was filtered between the heads of people—so many people, in fact, that Keith forgot the reason they were here.

Everyone from the McClain plantation was here, in addition to the street rats.

“Look who came back to _grace us_ with his presence,” someone announced, passing through the ranks of children to stand over Keith. He lifted a hand to block out the sun, and even then he couldn’t understand the significance of the kid until he said, “Allura picks ya up an’ suddenly yer too good for us. I see ya kept the coin ya took from me.”

The guy flicked a coin at Keith, and it hit his chest. He scrambled to catch his lucky charm and stared at the kid for a minute longer. Keith said something, he wasn’t sure what it was because the words never reached the stage of comprehension. They seemed to whistle through his raw throat, and nothing more than that. 

The kid laughed and held out a hand to Keith. He looked at it, and he could see each crease on his hand from the grime smudged into them. Keith took the kid’s hand anyway and let him heave Keith up onto his feet. “I’m glad to say life’s better since Rollo took a digger. He just sorta disappeared—miracle if ya ask me.”

 _Doesn’t make you any less of a tattle, though_ , Keith mused bitterly, resisting the urge to shake the kid’s arm off of him. Thankfully, he wasn’t the one to take care of that part.

“Hey, no touchy-touchy. Let him rest,” Lance’s voice popped up from behind, and the kid backed off. Lance’s arm wrapped around Keith’s as he stumbled to avoid walking over someone’s sleeping arrangement. 

Once steading Keith on his feet, Lance stepped in front of him and insisted he lift his eyes off the ground. It was excruciating not being able to talk when his throat felt like someone had taken gasoline, poured it down his throat, and lit it ablaze. All the rotten, burned flesh just sat there, because clearing his throat meant ripping the lining of his esophagus each time. 

Realizing the problem, Lance looked around and asked, “Does anyone have water?” but Keith quickly shook his head, making a cutting motion with his hand. Water around this shelter was hard to come by. Keith remembered going to a fresh spring pump nearly a mile away each day, and it wasn’t likely that any of the kids would be willing to share.

But to his utter surprise, a little girl stepped up and lifted a canteen into the air. “Ther’s only a lit’le,” she said, beaming at Lance as he accepted it. Keith just felt guilty for drinking out of it, but he did anyway and it was refreshing as all hell.

“Better?” Lance asked, and Keith nodded. He handed the canteen back to the girl and said, “Thanks so much.”

“Your welcome.” If it weren’t for the dark ash on her cheeks, Keith was certain she was blushing madly.

Keith used Lance for support as he glanced over the heads of the children, and the kids nearing their own ages. His gaze stopped at the upper level balcony—where Rollo would stand, and the leader before him. There wasn’t anyone there, as far as he could tell. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t a leader around. 

“How long have we been here?” he asked, surprised by how strange his voice sounded. It grated against his eardrums, strangely like Haggar’s harsh voice.

“A few hours. I was waiting for you to wake up,” Lance said, and glanced over where Keith was looking. “What’s up there?”

“Nothing right now. Where’s Sebastian?” he asked, and Lance pointed him across the room, and Keith realized he could hear Sebastian laughing the entire time. The kids were entertaining him with their tricks. “I need to find Allura, but I can’t go anywhere until I know for certain no one followed us here. Did you see any officers on the way here?”

“No. It was dark when we got here—just before dawn,” he explained, and Keith fell silent, thinking. They got lucky—that was around the time the officers switched patrols, if things hadn’t changed much since Coran warned him of the switch a year back. They changed rotations every now and again, and even then when Keith was a street rat, he and the other kids were always thinking of the patrol rotations. 

The little girl was still following them and seemed to know what he was thinking. “Yeah, they switched a bit before you fellas showed up.”

“Good. So I should be fine leaving here. Who’s in charge now?” Keith asked her, and she pointed behind them, saying, “Nyma. She’s one of Allura’s specials. Sent her in after Rollo vanished.”

He nodding, noting the term the girl used. Allura’s specials. The kid before Rollo had been a special—sometimes the positions weren’t passed down, but just replaced by someone appointed by the boss herself. Rollo happened to be a favorite of the previous leader, as well as a thug, and just succeeded through the ranks.

Keith gently brushed Lance’s hands off his arm and continued to walk in Nyma’s direction. The girl was beautiful for a street rat, impossibly so. Without the knowledge Keith had, the kids probably fawned over her. She could get them to do anything, just like Allura would do to Keith. Just like she did with everyone. It was just a matter of morality that determined whether or not a glamour was good or bad, and the hard-set expression on Nyma’s face made it difficult to decide.

He could feel Lance behind him, hovering close. Nyma’s eyes went straight to him before settling on Keith, dismissing the boy at her side with a wave of her hand. “I should be thanking you,” she slurred, sticking her nose up. “It’s ‘cause of you I’m here, ain’t that right? The Madame’s got all good things to say ‘bout you.”

“Hard for me to say the same about you,” he mused aloud, crossing his arms. 

“Figures—ya never came back after Rollo dragged you out of here. My kids still talk about it these days. Kinda hard to shut ‘em up now and then. But I could keep ‘em quiet about this whole endeavor if you do me a favor. Allura always said anybody who helps you out gets a mighty sum… But that doesn’t work with anyone else, unfortunately.”

Keith ground his teeth together and stuffed a hand into a back pocket of his belt. “How much?”

“No, no money. Again, the Madame’ll pay me for it. I just need you to take of a nuisance. You do your share, and I’ll keep your people safe. Mostly fed,” she said, giving a light, languid shrug. Her eyes always seemed to be half-lidded, but particularly analytic as she studied him. She knew his hands were tied. 

“I don’t have any money on me,” Lance whispered to Keith. “But we could double Madame Allura’s pay if we—”

“Not worth the hassle,” Keith murmured back. “Who is it you want taken care of?” he asked Nyma. A slim smile tugged at her lips.

  


Nyma crawled up beside Keith on the rooftop, the both of them belly-down on the swelteringly hot surface. It was an abnormally warm day, and he found it hard to concentrate with the heat to worry about, and a glamour beside him. She had that peculiar effect that made Keith want to look at her constantly—and he wasn’t certain if it was simply just to keep an eye on her snakelike habits. It didn’t help that she held a butcher’s knife to the surface of the rooftop, both hands tense over the handle.

Her heavy blonde hair sagged in a low bun over her shoulder, and beyond it he could see the disgusted sneer. “ _There_. The vandal. Works for the dung-mat in charge of the drug cartel. He’s been sendin’ vandals out during deals. They’re a bit trickier than the usual strong-hands he sends out.”

Keith nodded, remembering the fact that before Allura, he hadn’t known the name of Rax. None of the street kids particularly liked him—his strong-arms were widely known as bruisers for the yellow-green bruises they left behind. It wasn’t that the kids had any use for the drugs themselves—some worked on the side distributing the drugs for extra change. The bruisers were required to give a fifth of their pay to the kids. It was enough to make payment at the end of the week, most times even more. 

It was dangerous work though. Desperation led kids to work with the bruisers.

“Vandal’s haven’t been payin’ my runts,” Nyma explained. “I complained to the Madame about it, but nothin’ came of that conversation. I say she doesn’t even know who runs the damn cartel.”

 _Oh, she does_ , Keith mused internally. “Just the one? You want the money, or for me to just take him out of the equation?”

“Both would be _great_ ,” she smirked, tapping him on the arm. “There’s always more’n one, though. Check the alleyways—I’ll cover you if it goes to shit.”

“It won’t,” he promised, and shuffled back from the ledge as Nyma said, “Trust me, I’m an _excellent_ distraction.”

“That’s my main concern,” he muttered, and she giggled diabolically, her eyes prowling the tavern entrance where the vandal stood, smoking a cigar. 

Keith followed the scent of the curling smoke, dissolving into the air over the tavern rooftop. Keith jumped over the alleyway, landing soundlessly before glancing down into the shadows. He could make out three fellas sitting atop crates and barrels, dishing out cards with cigars tucked against their bottom lips. The scent of burning tobacco always made him nauseous.

Keith dropped straight through the middle of them, and in their stunned state he grabbed the pair of hands holding the deck of cards, and flung the man into a nearby crate. His head splintered the wood. Keith whipped his leg up, cracking the heel of his boot against the other player’s jaw. His ankle was already sore from a previous kick, and this just seemed to make it explode in pain.

He stumbled onto both feet, staggering to the side and narrowly avoided a punch to the eye. He ducked and slammed his fist into the man’s gut, doubling it with a sharp, knife-enhanced jab to the side. The man screamed, and the noise combined with the man yanking his head out of a wooden crate, called the vandal to them.

“What the hell—” the burly man started, only to be cut short by a knife sinking into his stomach. Keith retracted his throwing arm, only to jab his fist upward, knocking out one of the men just now rising.

The vandal let out a monstrous roar, knife still jutting out from his stomach as he came for Keith. Keith braced himself, calculating just how he’ll toss the guy when—

A sickening, squelching thud reverberated off the brick walls. The vandal faltered, steps skewing, before dropping to his knees. Keith gawked at the sight of Nyma staggering with him, both hands grasped firmly to the handle of a butcher’s knife deep in the vandal’s skull. She was absolutely seething, and didn’t let up even when the man dropped unconscious to the floor.

Five hefty yanks later, she freed the butcher’s knife only to scream and cut it through the man’s back, across his spine. She hacked at him, heaving and foaming at the mouth. Keith stood away, watching her brutalize the dead vandal. Keith only moved when one of the vandal’s fellas started to stand up. He kicked his boot back and knocked the guy back down.

At last Nyma stood up, chest pumping and butcher knife sagging to her side. There were tears on her cheeks that she hastily brushed away. “We… never got to him. Every time we tried his buddies interrupted. We could never take all of them at once,” she explained.

Keith hesitated, mouth slightly ajar as Nyma stood catching her breath. “…By ‘we’ you mean… just you? You couldn’t take him on yourself,” he clarified, and this brought her eyes up to his. He saw that look now and again, mostly from the older kids that were in his gang. Older kids who were thrust into the adult life too soon by traumatic events. Keith was certain he used to have a look just like that from killing Rollo.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “About whatever he did to you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she cut in, crude voice silencing him. She chucked the butcher’s knife at a crate, and the blade struck and stayed there. “Come on,” she ordered, and Keith followed obediently.

They returned to the shelter by navigating the alleyways. Nyma was quiet, and that was something they shared in common. Upon approaching the harbor, her thugs greeted her with submissive nods, and promptly ignored the fact that Keith was there at all. It was like the owls—as long as you didn’t see them, they didn’t see you.

They came in through the river entrance, and Nyma said, not looking at him, “I’ll spread the word that no one goes in or out without swearin’ that yer people aren’t here.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, and moved away from her to find Lance.

Lance was by Sebastian, among the kids eager to show off to them with magic tricks and fighting skills. Some of the kids were in the middle of a wrestling match when Keith appeared, and caused Lance to jump to his feet. He looked at Keith hopefully, which brought a smile to his face. “Come on, I have a stop to make before visiting Allura,” he said.

Lance’s expression broke for a second before a skeptical look came to his face. “You… You mean you want _me_ to come with you? It isn’t top secret or something?”

Keith rolled his eyes and motioned for Lance to follow. They looked back at Sebastian, who was thoroughly enthralled by the children fawning over him. He’d be fine. So Keith and Lance left the shelter and began the trek across the open harbor. They walked over the planks connecting the sides of the gullies, and it took a while for either one of them to talk. Certainly Keith had a reason for being quiet—he could still taste blood in his throat like pennies on his tongue.

“I… never knew,” Lance said softly, trailing next to Keith. “You aren’t even from Bulmera and I never would have _guessed it_ …”

“It’s fine,” Keith croaked, clearing his throat. “I really wasn’t… supposed to tell anyone. I’m sorry I never told you.”

He felt Lance’s hand trail over his arm, and a moment later their fingers laced together, and Keith held on tightly. “Don’t apologize. I shouldn’t have yelled at you when you… disappeared or whatever that time you stayed over.”

Keith laughed a little as he tugged his hood up. Even in his pajamas, Lance was still better dressed than most of the people in that area, so Keith unclasped his mimicry cloak and gave it to him. “We’ll catch less unwanted attention,” he explained when Lance gave him a questioning look from beneath the heavy hood of his cloak.

He tugged Lance down an alleyway, stepping over the sprawled-out feet of a person sitting there. It took a while of walking to reach nicer territories, including the marketplace Keith was so familiar with. Lance tugged down his hood and squinted at it. “What are we doing here?” he asked, to which Keith replied with, “Errands.” 

He smirked at Lance, who rolled his eyes and trudged along with him. They went to the alley between two market stands, and Keith hesitated at the corner of it. “A while ago, when I ran into you and Hunk around here…” he started, pausing to scrunch his brows together.

“Well now I sort of figure you weren’t in Bulmera. But all those stories you told at the dinner? Did you just… make them up?” Lance asked, sounding more impressed than anything.

“Um… Katie and I panicked and came up with them. But when I bumped into you guys, I was heading this way. You caught up to me so I disappeared against the brick here, and you were standing there,” Keith said, pointing to the corner where he recalled Lance leaning, and Hunk accusing him of being obsessed with Keith.

Lance’s face flushed, seeming to be on the same track as Keith. “You little _rat_. You heard us!” he laughed, and Keith grinned. “I can’t believe it. How many times did you eavesdrop on us?”

“Just that one time. Pid—I mean, Katie likes to eavesdrop more than I do, so it’s really her you should be afraid of. She isn’t a mimic like me, though. She’s just evil,” he said, grinning as he tugged Lance along. They came to the maroon door, and Keith undid the lock and held it open for Lance.

“So mimics… are they like imitations?” Lance said, eyebrows quirking. Keith nodded, and explained that it was just another term for mimic. He noticed that a lot of the higher-status individuals seemed to go by imitation. “You’re incredible,” Lance murmured as Keith shut the maroon door behind them. He was thankful it was dim enough in that small, cramped room so Lance couldn’t see the blush that bloomed on his cheeks.

“I wouldn’t call it that—it’s just instincts,” he explained. “I didn’t know about it until Allura picked me up from the gang and sent me to live with Shiro.”

Keith sifted through the keyring efficiently, and the only evidence of Keith’s work was the continual clinking of metal. The door came undone and Keith shoved it open with his shoulder and swiftly turned on the light to the room. Unfortunately, though, the light was already on.

“Thought I heard you jangling around,” a jovial voice bellowed from down below, and Keith dropped his hands guiltily, partially obscuring the view of Lance behind him. Coran set down his tools and put a hand on his hip. “And… you brought a friend.”

“You knew he was here, quit acting like you’re surprised,” Keith muttered. 

“So much for forgiving me for hiding that little bit from you,” Coran said grumpily, gesturing for Keith to come down the stairs. Lance hesitantly shut the door behind him, and followed after Keith. “Imitation is a term coined by Zarkon’s great-grandfather. Before that people like Keith were known as mimics,” he explained to Lance, who didn’t seem capable of doing anything except nod. 

“Lance, this is my mentor, Coran. Coran, you know Lance,” Keith introduced them, and as he did so, hurried over to one of Coran’s weaponry chests. He pulled out a case of throwing knives and restocked his pouches. “I’m heading over to Allura’s. There’s been a problem.”

“I can tell by your voice, sheesh. I figured it was self-explanatory not to use it on yourself,” Coran said, visibly cringing as Keith gave him a droll stare. “Hope you pegged Sendak with it. Though… by the sound of things—namely your voice—sounds like you got hit to. Is he done for?” 

“Unfortunately not,” Keith said, glancing at Lance before saying, “The McClain family’s gone—all except Lance and Sebastian. Have you been around the estate? Or kept an eye on the officers?”

“Considering this is all news to me, the answer would have to be no,” Coran said, tapping a finger to his mustache as he looked towards his weaponry wall. His collection was vast, and Keith could see Lance sparing worrisome glances at the variety of swords and rifles. 

Coran stepped up to the wall and trailed a finger down a slim rifle. Keith cocked his head to the side as he said, “I plan on visiting Allura before heading to the palace. If I plan to break out the McClains, it wouldn’t make sense to leave the other prisoners. I’ll need something to break the locks on the cells.” 

“Nonsense,” Coran laughed. He unhooked the rifle from the wall and spun it into his grasp. His infamous, sinister grin returned. “Because I’m coming with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The results of [the survey](https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/2CR8ZPL) are tellin' me to write a Klance, urban sorcery AU feat. a fierce and single Pidge, along with much pining, and _maybe_ non-cliche soulmates involved. Which wouldn't be a far stretch considering sorcery is involved...
> 
> I have the beginnings of an idea here... please wait while the plot loads.
> 
>  **POVs RANKED HIGHEST TO LOWEST:**  
>  Keith, Lance, Yuuri, Pidge, Multiple
> 
>  **SHIPS/PAIRINGS RANKED HIGHEST TO LOWEST:**  
>  Fierce Pidge, Klance, Viktuuri, Sheith
> 
>  **AUs RANKED HIGHEST TO LOWEST:**  
>  Urban sorcery & Fantasy, Non-cliche soulmate, Pre-Kerberos, Mermaids & Steampunk, Apocalypse, High school


	15. Cell Sectors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Lance's turn cradle Keith in his arms.

Coran marched in front of them, a spring in his step with the outlook of returning to his favorite pastime on the horizon. Lance regarded Coran with wary eyes, and didn’t hide his hesitance at all. His grip on Keith’s hand was crushing. They could see the frame of the rifle hidden beneath Coran’s hooded figure, and the larger, forked blades on either side of his hips.

His mentor took them to the alleyway behind the brothel, where the pristine white siding was masked in shadows. Keith stood off to the side as Coran knocked playfully on the door. The viewing slot opened, and the guard grinned at them. 

“Coran! You’ve returned!”

“Yes, how fortunate,” Coran jested. “I’ve got urgent business with the Madame. You gonna let me in or do I have to knock the door down?”

“No need, my friend,” the guard said, and shut the slot. When the locks came undone, the guard appeared in the doorway and gave Keith a harsh pat on the back. “Rough night, eh?” he commented.

“You wouldn’t _believe_ ,” Keith grumbled, voice crackling out near the end. He gestured to Lance and introduce the two of them. 

They shook hands, and the guard practically ripped Lance’s arm from his body when he threatened, “Ya touch the workers, and this’ll be the last face you see.”

“Th-This is a brothel?” Lance squeaked, looking at Keith with wide eyes. “Holy shit this is a brothel. _You took me to a—_ ”

“ _Yes_ , now come on—I’ll keep him in line,” Keith promised the guard, practically dragging a rather reluctant Lance over the threshold after Coran.

They hurried through the tapestry-lined hallways in search of Allura’s office. Lance stayed as close as possible to Keith’s side as they arrived at the heavy oak door. Coran bypassed knocking, and went straight for the grand entrance, shouting, “Big news, my dear!”

All three of them staggered to a halt at the small figure standing in front of the desk. Allura peered around the girl to look at them, eyes wide as she hastily stood up and brushed her hands over her face. Keith felt something in his chest plummet when the ginger-headed girl turned around, eyes red behind her massive, fogged-up glasses. 

“K-Keith…” Pidge moaned, choking on the words. 

“Oh God, Pidge—” he said, breaking away from Lance and running for her. She held her arms up, and clung to his torso. He wrapped his arms around her, paling as he realized that she was alone. Process of elimination told him she _came_ alone as well.

“It’s Shiro, isn’t it?” he whispered, looking up at Allura. She tossed a tissue aside and stepped around the desk, raising a hand to her forehead. “When did it happen,” Keith demanded.

“Hardly an hour ago, I’d say. Pidge _ran here—_ ” she stopped, addressing Lance with her critical gaze. “My birds told me what happened to your parents and sisters. We’ll get them back, I promise you.”

“Thank you,” Lance said, voice detached. He was staring at Allura as if she was some sort of goddess, despite the fact that her makeup was clearly blotched from the tissue. 

“It seems like Sendak’s men acted without him. The poison has him compromised—still unconscious, I assume,” Allura explained, turning to Keith. “You’re _lucky_ to be _alive_. Don’t try to cover it up—I’m sure it hurts like hell. Coran.”

“I’ll get one of the girls to fetch fresh water,” he said obediently, and left the room. 

Pidge rubbed her hands over her eyes before pulling away from Keith and turning away from Lance. She plunked down into one of the chairs, breathing hard. “I want them dead,” she hissed.

After a second Allura said, “Right, well, before that happens—it seems like Nyma has your people in good care. They aren’t likely to be discovered—the informant for Sendak is most likely no longer among them. Informants are, once deemed useless, exposed of by the King. He or she might even be in the cell sector where your family is kept—I wouldn’t be surprised.

“The orientation of the underground portion of the palace is heavily guarded—as you might have guessed—but there are areas less secure than others. These areas are… less favorable circumstances, unfortunately. The tunnel you’ve observed above ground is not an option—but there’s an area within the underground that connects to the main river that runs through the city. You’ll take the channel down and don’t be surprised that when you reappear, there will be prisoners prepared to dispatch you simply for the meat on your bones,” Allura said, hurriedly sifting through the books on the shelves behind her desk. “Honestly, Haggar’s experiments have become complete cannibals. The only times they ever leave the prison is when purging northern villages that Zarkon plans on transforming into mines or otherwise.”

“But they’re prisoners—we have to free them,” Keith argued, but Allura was shaking her head.

“It’s too late for that. Anyone in that sector is too far gone physically and mentally. If you can, avoid being detected by them. It’s the easiest way out of there,” she told him, lifting a book off the shelf. She shook the pages out and a slip fell from it. 

“I’ve always had little birds on the inside of the palace, and they’ve been piecing the upper part together for years before you appeared,” she told them, nodding to Keith. “The underground is more of a mystery. It’s far more difficult infiltrating Zarkon’s police and military forces. Many of them have permanent possessions on them, planted by Haggar. They are out of their minds with loyalty for her, specifically. Call it a backup plan of hers, if things with Zarkon go south.”

“Holy…” Lance whistled, peering over the desk at the map she spread out on the table. 

“Shit,” Keith whispered, pointing to the sector Allura spoke of. Most of the underground was invisible, except for this one. “How were you able to get this?”

“Guards don’t go down that way for a reason,” she said grimly. “Only Haggar is able to walk through there without sacrificing a limb. I’ve lost five lovely maids and butlers to get this part of the map…” With that, she rolled it up and deposited it into a waterproof bag. She passed it to Keith, who lifted it gingerly. The bag was clear, and he could barely see the ink on the inside of the pages, like a shadow. “I have copies of it, but please take care not to lose it. Who knows what Zarkon is already aware of. We don’t want him to think that we lack information.”

As she spoke, the door to the office opened again, and Coran stepped in with a glass of water for Keith. He took it gratefully and sipped on it as Allura addressed Coran, “I want you to come with us.”

It took a second for Keith to register what she said, and sputtered on his water. Pidge gasped a little and exclaimed, “What do you mean by ‘ _us_ ’?” 

Coran gave a shrug, and Keith coughed hard, choking on his water. Lance took his water glass from him until he calmed down enough to say, “ _You_ aren’t coming with us,” he hissed at her. 

Allura’s brow arched—it was the sort of look she got when she was prepared to be argumentative. She tended to do that around Shiro. “Excuse me? But I do _not_ take orders from you,” she hissed back. Pidge looked off to the side, murmuring an accusatory, “Oooo…” under her breath.

“You said so yourself—the prison sector we’re going to is dangerous and I don’t want you to get hurt,” Keith argued, but his voice weakened even more than it already was. She was practically towering over him now, arms crossed.

“Who do you suppose taught her workers to defend themselves?” she remarked bitterly. “Perhaps you shouldn’t underestimate me, my bird. Coran’s mentor was also my own.”

Keith didn’t answer, mostly because he felt embarrassed for undermining her. He uncrossed his own arms as Coran clapped his hands and exclaimed, “All right! So Allura’s coming with us, that’s great!” 

She gave Keith one last look before turning away and fetching a set of keys from her desk drawer. “We’ll have to stay away from my businesses. Coran, the safe house.”

“Safe as ever,” he replied.

“Perfect.” She swept up her coat and tucked her long white hair into a heavy, low bun to fit into her hood. As she made her way to the exit, she dragged her hand over Keith’s shoulder, encouraging him to walk with her. “Let’s go.”

  


  


“Kill that sonuvabitch for me,” Pidge ground out through clenched teeth. She shoved Keith aggressively in the chest, and had he been younger, weaker, and less-effective at standing up to such attacks, he surely would have fallen. Instead, he stood there and took it, and offered the most confident smile he was capable of summoning. 

“That’s the plan,” he said. She stuck her nose up at him as if she didn’t believe it. He rolled his eyes and said, “We’ve been planning to kill Sendak for _weeks_ now. This just means I have personal vengeance to _fuel_ my Sendak-killing rage.”

She squinted at him before nodding approvingly, dropping the formidable facade. “Fine. I wish I could come with to see it go down. If you could bring him to me _alive_ , that’d be opportune, but alas, circumstances makes that rather difficult for you, so…”

“You want a souvenir,” Keith concluded, rolling his eyes away from her as she gasped in delight at the thought, as if _she_ hadn’t been thinking it first. “How about a finger?”

“ _Better_. Cut his balls off for me so I can _fry them_ and _feed them_ to—”

Keith cut her off by yanking her to his chest. The rest of the words were muffled against his uniform, and he could see Lance glancing over at them from where he sat on Coran’s worktable. He looked so out of place there, and truthfully, Keith felt guilty for dropping him here while Coran, Allura, and himself went to Zarkon’s palace.

And Lance would be left with Pidge as company. Before, that wouldn’t have been so terrible, but now…

Pidge slapped Keith away and straightened her shirt out. “Don’t do that. I was talking.”

“I know, that’s why I did it,” he remarked, grinning smugly. 

She scoffed at him, crossing her arms and saying, “God, you look like Coran when you sneer like that. And I haven’t even known him as long as you have. It’s just a thing you notice when ya meet him. It makes me not want to be his friend.”

Keith laughed, still noting that Lance looked like he wanted to join their conversation. So Keith bent down to Pidge’s level and said, voice quieter, “You really have to talk to him. You aren’t exactly who you make yourself out to be around him and Hunk.”

“Oh God, Hunk’s gonna have an aneurysm when he finds out…” she moaned, slapping her hands over her face, and then onto Keith’s shoulders. “It would be more hilarious if we pretend we kidnap Hunk, and that he’s a part of some huge, elaborate scheme—”

“No, we aren’t doing that,” Keith said, then hesitated as Pidge’s eyebrows just seemed to go higher and higher until—

He sighed and said, “Talk to Lance about it.” She yelped in excitement and punched him in the arm, yelling, “This is gonna be great! Hey Lance! Lance! I’ve got an idea!”

Lance hopped off the workbench as Pidge ran over and grabbed him by the arm, screaming, “We’re gonna _kidnap Hunk!_ ”

“That sounds like an _awful_ idea—what does this have to do with breaking into the palace?” Lance said, looking genuinely terrified as he turned to Keith. 

He walked over and shrugged, saying, “It has nothing to do with it. She’ll tell you about it later. I have to get going.”

Pidge pouted at him from behind Lance, whose brows tensed over his puppy eyes. Keith felt awkward—he thought about how he questioned his actions regarding Allura. He thought about whether or not their brief contact, their shared kisses during this past night were all just… kindled by adrenaline and the idea that they were going to be killed. Did Lance really regard him romantically anymore? 

Was he just hoping blindly that Keith was really able to get his family back? 

He wasn’t sure if Lance planned on talking, because Keith was staring at his feet again. “If— _When_ we get your family back… I wouldn’t be upset if you didn’t want to see me again. But I hope you can forgive me for not telling you,” he said, pinching his fingers together in front of him. He noticed Lance’s feet step closer.

“You wouldn’t? You wouldn’t be upset?” Lance asked, and Keith’s chest felt hollow. It felt like Lance just gouged something out and he wasn’t sure what it was, or where it went.

He just knew that it hurt that Lance was even asking for clarification. 

Keith shook his head, and was startled to hear Lance scoff. “Gosh, really shows how much you care about me then if you won’t be upset if we break up.”

Keith forced himself to look up at Lance, who was smirking like an idiot. Before Keith could say something, Lance added, “Which we _aren’t_ , breaking up I mean.”

“But… But that morning—”

“Honestly, you were the one to launch yourself out a window—not me,” Lance corrected, and Keith was shocked to hear an edge of… bitterness there. “Like, seriously? We didn’t even talk it over. Not to mention the fact that I was completely speechless. I mean, how cool is that? You’re like a… what are those? One of those chameleons and then you up and ditch me. I am _beyond_ pissed at you! You made me feel like a complete asshole, not to mention _worthless_ —I literally tell you _everything_ and you fail to mention probably the most important detail in your life—

“Don’t even get me _started_ on the fact that [we](https://youtu.be/EM9WSElLklw?t=20s) spent a _beautiful night together_ and [I](https://youtu.be/FwAiRb24yB0?t=17s) _cradled you in my arms_ all night! All night! And literally the second Sebastian barges in you disappear,” Lance was screaming by then, and Keith was bright red, knowing that Coran and Allura were listening in, and not to mention Pidge, who looked so enthralled that she might as well have been documenting the entire speech for the records. 

Keith held his hands over his mouth and cringed when Lance pegged him with that serious glare he hated so much. He never expected Lance to be capable of such rage—and apparently, nor had Pidge, because this was a revelation to her as well. At last Lance slapped his hands down and released an aggravated sigh.

“Well? Aren’t you going to say something?” he demanded.

Keith couldn’t even move his hands away from his mouth. Eventually Pidge stepped in and whispered, “You broke him.”

Lance blinked for a moment, looking back at Keith as if it just registered that Keith usually wasn’t like this. His jaw dropped slightly, and he quickly rushed forward and threw his arms around Keith. He squeezed him around his torso, urging Keith to raise his already lifted arms, and tug them around Lance’s neck.

His fingers went for Lance’s hair, and he wove his fingers through it as he heard Lance’s voice close to his ear, “What I mean to say… is that I really care about you. And I would be really upset if we broke up. Please don’t die. And I really mean it when I say that.”

Keith swallowed hard—which was a task considering his throat still felt like sandpaper. He licked his lips and breathed out shakily. “I would be really upset, too,” he whispered. “And I promise I won’t die. I’ll get your family back.”

  


  


Allura led them to the channel of the river that dropped down several feet into a multi-grade waterfall. A set of stone steps broke away from the street that curved alongside the river, and they took them lower, passing barred piping along the way. The river was flanked on either side by the leveled streets several feet above. It was midday, and Keith knew that just simply because Allura seemed anxious to get out of the public eye. The night seemed to favor them all—Coran just looked more sincere out in the light.

There was a maintenance walkway that was flush against the current. Some of the bricks were slick with water and mist from the waterfall, and it took them to the grates that filtered the water. They were partially submerged in the river water, and Allura bent down over one of them. She removed a tool from her belt and began the process of removing the bars.

When the heavy metal cover came loose, she propped it up against the wall, in the shadows of the street overhead. “Keith goes first. It’ll be easier for him to get through,” she said, and Coran agreed.

“What? Why me?” he complained. “This was your idea…”

“Yes, but you happen to have excellent lungs. You can hold your breath longer than both of us combined—well, Coran, I’m not so sure about you,” she confessed, tapping her chin as he waited for her to figure it out herself. _So he likes to test people other than me, huh?_ Keith muttered irritably. “You smoked in your younger years, didn’t you? Yes, you did.”

Coran snapped his fingers. “Drats. I always lose my poker face around you. Good one.”

Allura told Keith the directions within the tunnel. He nodded in understanding and lowered himself into the water, and let the current suck him into the tunnel.

He kept a hand on the ceiling, noting the ridges in the metal, and the dips they took here and there. The current would take him where he needed to go, even as it plunged him completely underwater.

The water itself wasn’t terrible—they were far enough upstream to avoid the muck of the city. But that didn’t mean they didn’t receive the brunt of the farmer’s wastes. He kept his eyes closed, mouth shut, and hoped animal feces wouldn’t be the death of him.

His hand skimmed over the ceiling of the tunnel, keeping him from barreling against the sides of the pipe. He could feel the crippling effect of holding his breath too long. It came slowly, and the more focused be became on it, the more unbearable it felt. 

Then, his hand slipped from the ceiling.

Both of his hands shot out to the sides of the pipe, struggling desperately to maintain his equilibrium. It was Allura’s most important point—lose the ceiling, and he could end up plummeting down with the current once the tunnel released him into open waters. 

He felt like screaming as suddenly the current seemed to yank at him, spiraling harder. He fought the urge to open his eyes, as if he _could_ see anything down here. But the darkness of his eyelids lifted to a foggy, faint bluish hue, and the sides of the pipe disappeared.

His hands instinctively clung to the edge of the metal, and he hung on despite the burning of his lungs. He waited for his legs to lift, and then followed their motion upwards. 

Keith emerged gasping, the spray of water reminding him that he could finally open his eyes. He brushed his hands over them, dispelling the moisture from them, still panting, until he realized the dilemma with making such an entrance.

He slowly ducked down, just past his mouth, eyes wide as he used what light was available to make out the shape of something ahead of him. And it was moving towards the water’s edge.

What made it most prominent were the noises it made.

At first Keith supposed it was just a buzzing in his ear from being underground, but it continued to echo, and reverberate in his skull like electric static. Every now and then it gave off the sound of a spark—something he was familiar with through Coran’s inventions, and likewise, Pidge’s obsession with them.

It was a constant, crackling hum that gradually grew louder. Keith’s breath shuddered out of his nose, and he paced backward from the creature as it paced the ledge of the water. He waited, heart pounding beneath the surface where his heavy belt forced him to keep peddling fast.

A burst of water exploded in front of Keith, and he was so startled he jumped against the opposite edge of the pool. The beast’s crackling hiss pitched higher, deafening, as it was accompanied by a chorus of hissing from across the cavern.

Coran bolted towards Keith, swinging his feet up onto the floor and dragging Keith with him. “Hurry up, boy—aim for the heads. Haggar can’t make their heads out of metal.”

He nodded, watching the light catch on the gleam of a nearby spiked arm. It was narrow, perhaps even skinner than a human arm, except for the three massive prongs that connected to a sharp point, creating what would be forearms. Keith swallowed down the horror rising in his throat where his saliva tasted like pennies.

He spun to the side, avoiding the prongs that opened to three slim, metal spikes. He barely managed to avoid its other, mangled-shaped mechanical talons when Coran hoisted himself up by the metal plates that made up the legs. He rammed his knife into the side of the skull—avoiding the ridged, metallic spine that crept up the back of the skull. 

The limbs kept moving mindlessly at Keith, and he panicked at the thought of them being functional even dead, but the beast collapsed forward into a pile of metal plates and gears. The static whirr dissolved with it. 

“I like this teamwork. You distract, I attack,” Coran said, and Keith was about to argue that it should go the other way when suddenly one of the beasts clamored into the body of its companion, coming for them with that deafening hiss.

“It makes more sense for me to attack if they can’t see me!” Keith shouted after him, but Coran was already bolting away, leaving Keith to play matador with Haggar’s experiment.

He ducked back and ran from it around the edge of the water, knowing instantly that this was a terrible idea—there were more of these monsters on the other side of the pool, and the instant he skidded to the side, the monsters collided in a screech of scraping metal and the whirr of gears cranking. 

Keith scrambled towards the wall and began climbing it expertly, his foot narrowly leaping out of the reach of those metal talons. Keith kicked off the wall, aiming for a brutal kick to the head, only to be hindered by its raised arm. He grabbed onto one of the spikes, wincing as the uneven metal scraped through the fabric of his gloves. 

“Keith!” He could hear Allura climbing out of the pool, screaming, “Duck!”

He dropped through the gaps in the claws just as something crashed into the side of the beast’s skull. The talons opened, and Keith slipped through, screaming.

The distance to the ground was far greater than the height of an average person. He landed, slipping onto his side as he ran away from the collision of two mechanical beasts screeching at one another over their now-gone meal. Keith scrambled after the familiar patter of human footsteps sprinting across the cavern. It didn’t take long for the beasts to discover them again.

Something latched on to the back of Keith’s leg, pinning it to the ground. He shrieked, and turned to face the creature looming over him. The light caught on the edges of the face—bald and void of anything beyond the hollow spaces where the eyes were meant to be. In the seconds it took for Keith to recover his breath, he remembered an important detail—

They could still see him.

Keith willed himself to dissolve into the ground, and instantly the claws lifted. It clicked in confusion, the sound high-pitched and whining across the cave. Keith started to move as it began scenting the air, and he scrambled to his feet and took off in the direction Coran and Allura disappeared to.

He rounded the edge of the rock and came to a crevice that arched just above their heads—a doorway of sorts. “This isn’t right—there isn’t supposed to be a ground-level entrance _anywhere_ in here,” Allura hissed as Coran began fiddling with the edges of the door. “My birds would have been able to come here if that were the case.”

“Would you prefer climbing up to the trap door where they toss the food in?” Coran countered, and Allura sighed in annoyance. 

Keith hissed for them to be quiet, and they silenced themselves as the static drew near. Keith took Allura by the arm and pushed her to the wall, flattening himself back against her and disappearing. Where he covered her, her body disappeared out of focus. It all just seemed like blurry stone walls then, as opposed to the usual crystalline quality of his filters.

Coran nudged himself into a dip in the wall, and on the other side of it, Keith stared at the silhouette passing by. The head was erect on an elongated neck that allowed it to protrude within their crevice. Keith could feel Allura’s breath quicken, and stop when the face curved towards Keith—the pits of its eyes staring at him. 

And then, the beast moved past them and away from the door. 

They waited another few minutes before Coran gathered the nerve to finish working on the door locks. By the time it creaked open, they were already through the door, and locking it in place before the beasts could register that they lost their meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O how the turn tables, Lance. O how the turn tables.
> 
> Also I haven't been able to write much since the start of the semester... but I WANT TO FINISH IT BEFORE MIDNIGHT TONIGHT. I can't let this fester after season 2 comes out. I will see you all on the other side, when the Voltron fandom transcends into oblivion.


	16. Experiment

The narrow, rocky corridor seemed to be mined out haphazardly—quickly, even, as if the work was rushed in a panic. Keith’s hands skimmed along it, just to keep himself sane. Just like the servant halls in the McClain mansion, he loathed this blank nothingness. 

“Make sure we don’t miss any halls that break away from this,” Allura whispered back to them. Keith stayed as close as possible to her, at least, without hindering her footsteps. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t because of his drunken instinct to protect her, but then that just meant he was blatantly showing how terrified he was of the darkness in here.

His heart was still racing. He could see the hollowness of the eye sockets, on Haggar’s beasts. He wondered just how many there were. That cavern only seemed to house three of them—but surely she had more up her sleeve? Why else was this particular section of the underground so massive?

They could still hear the mechanical clicks, the static, the buzz in their ears. It reverberated off the walls and resounded in their chests. Every now and then it became unbearably loud, but then it would pass. They just kept walking, avoiding the other caverns where the creatures were housed.

And then, suddenly, Keith’s hand went through the wall.

“There’s an opening here,” he whispered. 

Coran placed a hand on his shoulder, moving forward and checking the space. He then took a waterproof pack from his belt, and removed a long, nimble match. He struck it on the dry, rocky wall and held it out to the walkways before them. Keith squinted at the light and looked at the both of them. It felt strange to actually see people for once. 

Allura’s face was stoic as ever, and as she observed the two walkways, she nodded to the one Keith found. “We need to head up eventually. This looks like it will take us there.”

“All right. Follow me,” Coran ordered, and stepped ahead of Keith. Allura nudged Keith ahead of her, keeping a hand gently on his shoulder along the way.

There were steps carved into the rock. They were smooth and refined, and the walls became less coarse and unpolished. He kept his eyes on Coran, as opposed to the well of black flanking them on either end. Keith drew a hand up to observe how the walls eased into smooth stone. 

Allura’s hand gripped on tighter to Keith’s shirt, and a moment later she whispered, “Something isn’t right—Coran?”

“I don’t hear anything ahead,” he whispered back. “I can still hear the buzzing though. Perhaps that’s it?”

Allura didn’t seem convinced, and the light began to fade from Coran’s match. He let it go out and tossed the stick aside. Keith stepped on it when he passed by.

At the top of the stairs, they approached a heavy metal door—the sort Coran used for the safe house. There wasn’t a keyhole. “Keith, come here for a moment. Remember that trick, imitating keys and such?” he asked, and Keith shrugged. 

“There isn’t a slot here to try it on.”

“But there will be one on the other side,” Coran explained, and Allura gasped excitedly. Keith scowled at Coran, but it wasn’t like the man could see him. They both knew how awful Keith was at mimicking key shapes. At the safe house door, Keith had the advantage of _knowing_ the key shape. Here, he would be floundering around blindly.

Keith groaned aloud and bent towards the door, hands flat on the metal. He searched for the position of the key hole, which was just on the other side of a flat metal disk on their end. He used the invisible putty to mold out the shape of the key hole—it was always more difficult making malleable shapes. More often than not, they disappeared within seconds. Unstable, Coran called them.

After five infuriating attempts later, Keith slammed his fist against the door and stepped back. “I can’t do it. I can’t even _see it—_ ”

Allura placed her hands over Keith’s shoulders, and said, “One more try.” He tried so hard to be annoyed by her. She always seemed to know just how to calm him down, and some childish part of him didn’t want to be manipulated that way. He didn’t _want_ to be calm.

He seethed a little, but it gradually came out as a sigh as he leaned against the door again, Allura’s hands holding him still. He held his breath against the metal, and waited as the invisible putty melted into the keyhole. It filled every last crevice, and he solidified it. He had his key.

The instant the key turned, the door unlocked, and opened towards them. Coran whistled in appreciation, and Allura gave him a congratulatory pat on the back. 

Keith followed Coran through the opening and into the faint light ahead. It was down a hallway, one that began to take the shape of an actual building. The floors were still stone, but the walls were flat, painted concrete. At the end of the hall, Coran flatted himself against the wall, urging Keith and Allura to do the same.

Coran left to investigate the room. Keith peered around the corner, searching the room ahead. His jaw dropped at the sight.

It reminded him of Coran’s safe house, with his work bench and all his supplies and tools. But this was different in the position of the tables. The devices hanging over them. The lights were dim—out of use for the moment—so Keith could see Coran sifting through the materials on the nearby tables. The central table seemed to have the largest focus—with a half-bent surface, and arm and leg cuffs to hold people down. 

Keith moved away from the wall, and Allura followed after. She glowered at the objects sitting on the tables. Keith recognized the particularly large ones—they were the tongs Haggar replaced hands with. He resisted the urge to lift one up and chuck it across the room.

“Allura,” Coran whispered, voice tight. It stole Keith’s attention away from the mechanical limb, and then to the leg Coran held up. It was the shape of a human leg—perfectly so, aside from the clearly metallic surface, and the discoloration. They hurried over to Coran, where he set it down beside blueprints, diagrams, an entire human body perfectly sculpted onto the surface of a piece of parchment. Keith noted the separate parts of the body, all broken away into pieces that made a whole. The mechanical foot, leg, torso, chest, arms and hands. He recognized the spine from the beast Coran killed, and how it crawled up the back of the human skull.

“She’s planning on… replacing the entire human body. Aside from the head,” Allura said. “Like her experiments down there?”

“Precisely. But they’ll be human-size. Think of it as an evolved version of a regular human being,” Coran whispered. “They’ll most likely have strength even greater than that of a mimic. But I imagine she wouldn’t create them without some sort of safeguard. To ensure their loyalty to her.”

“Turning her experiments cannibals against everyone aside from herself is one way to go about it,” Allura muttered, crossing her arms. Keith stared up at the sketches of limbs, and the padded palm of a mechanical hand. He wandered as far as the nearest corridor, and peered into that dark tunnel. 

He stared down it until he heard a drip of liquid somewhere down there, echoing around empty, hollow walls. 

Hollow walls.

“Coran, I think there might be cells down this way,” Keith whispered, looking back at where Allura returned an arm onto the table. The table consisted of an entire, disassembled body, except an arm and a head. 

Coran stepped over to him only to hesitate, his arms tense. He raised a hand up to the handle of his rifle, and the action was enough to silence Allura and Keith. Keith desperately wished he was far enough in his training to hear what Coran heard, and see what he saw in the dark. Instead, Keith waited for the moment where Coran was finally able to pinpoint the noise and aim for an opposite corridor, over the medical table.

Keith cringed at the sound of a door opening, and shutting. He felt the faint, tug of air when the door sealed, trapping in the naturally cool air of the underground. He wondered if that door led up to the prison. He wondered if that was the exact entrance they needed to get to in order to find Lance’s family and Shiro. 

Allura held a hand in front of Keith, pushing him back into the damp, dark corridor where the cells were. Keith peered around Coran in time to see the movement of someone there—at least, until Coran’s rifle discharged bullet after bullet. The explosion echoed off the empty walls, and the metal chiseled chips of the wall away where the intruder hid behind.

Keith unhooked his pistol, and as they waited, targets trained on the entrance, Allura stepped forward. Her hand skimmed over the appendages, lifting up a leg. “Come out, Haggar. Or would you prefer I crush your artwork under my foot?” she hissed.

There wasn’t a sound, so Allura replaced the silence by dropping the leg on the ground.

The second the limb clattered to the floor, the sound of wind howling through a cavern reached Keith’s ears again. He recognized the sound, and lunged in front of Allura and Coran. He threw up his arm, and an invisible wall sent the black mass of clouds swirling up to the ceiling. At the time, Coran had been firing his rifle, and the bullets couldn’t even penetrate the invisible wall Keith put up.

The entire surface before them became opaque with black ash, before swelling to the sides, dividing down the middle where Haggar stepped forward, her sharp, yellowish eyes pegging Allura with a deadly glare. 

“ _Don’t_. Touch them,” she hissed, voice rasping. The clouds dissolved instantly around her feet, returning beneath that cloak that seemed to mimic the shadows. 

The leg was just now on the opposite side of Keith’s wall. He kept his arm up in fear of it falling. Haggar stepped towards the limb and picked it up, checking for any scuff marks, before setting it on the examination table. Allura stood as close to the wall as possible, challenging Haggar as the woman stepped close enough for her hair to skim it. Haggar’s long white hair reacted against it like static on a balloon.

“You’ve always been jealous of me,” Allura hissed at her. “That’s no reason to convince _anyone_ to arrest Shiro.”

“I should have recommended it to Zarkon ages ago,” Haggar remarked. “It was just convenient, considering this morning Sendak and his men turned up dead at our doorstep. No thanks to this brat.” She turned her sharp eyes onto Keith again, and he felt just as vulnerable as he did that day of the party. She began her prowl towards him, and Allura followed her at every step. 

Allura cut between Keith and Haggar, and it was a miracle that his wall stayed up.

“I have done _nothing to you_ ,” Allura screamed at her.

“You sent your imitation after me. Don’t lie—I’ve always been able to tell with you. I suppose that’s just a benefit of being related,” she sneered at Allura, and the second Keith’s jaw dropped, so did the wall. He scrambled to pick it back up, but Haggar could always tell with him. She could always see his filters.

Allura seemed to know as well.

She surged forward, her fist cracking across Haggar’s jaw. She tackled Haggar to the ground, regardless of the way Haggar’s cloak began to rise like that monstrous shadow beast. It curled around Allura’s legs and arms as she grabbed at Haggar’s hair and yanked— _hard_.

Keith panicked. He remembered what the shadows felt like, and how bitterly cold his arm felt inside it. He ran to them without even thinking—at least until Coran yanked him back, hissing, “She can handle it—”

“ _No!_ Haggar’s hurting her!” Keith screamed, surprised by the amount of force it took to break out of Coran’s hold. He lunged for Allura, through the black mist, and grabbed hold of her arm.

His fingers froze around her, tense and unbelievably chilled. He pulled on her, but his muscles felt brittle and raw. Allura’s skin was so impossibly warm compared to the darkness that consumed Keith a second later, when Haggar’s cloak enveloped him entirely. His already raw throat condensed, and it felt as if his lungs had suddenly become solid, immovable objects. 

Something sharp pierced his eardrums, and a second later he could see again. His back hit the ground and he felt it reverberate through his bones. His vision was completely frozen, no matter how much he tried to turn to Allura, where the clouds of black faded behind her. When he was finally able to move again, a hand slammed his shoulder back down, and Haggar glared down at him. 

“Don’t touch him,” Allura hissed. “You’ll taint him with your… gross dark sorcery.”

“Quit being so immature,” Haggar remarked, rolling her eyes. “I wasn’t the one to start pulling hair.”

“At least _I_ put my hair _into a bun so that wouldn’t happen_.”

“I didn’t exactly plan to fight you, you twat!” she seethed, and Allura’s jaw dropped at the vulgar term. “It wasn’t exactly on my goddamn _schedule_.”Keith suddenly felt Haggar’s cool fingers tugging at his cheeks, and he hastily batted them away, scrambling up into a seated position. He pushed her other hand away, and glared at her. 

“Ah, yes, I forget about the gift of sisterly love,” Coran mused from afar, only to be silenced by simultaneous, “ _Shut up!_ ” from Allura and Haggar.

Keith widened eyes turned to a glare as he forced himself to his feet. He slapped away Allura’s hand when she offered it to him. “You could have killed him,” she hissed at Haggar, who grimaced, lips curling back. Her pale, brown skin clearly showed the age between them—but it wasn’t as if Allura was young at all. Her glamour made her age almost entirely up for debate.

“I find it hard to believe that you’ve prioritized the life of an imitation as much as you have,” Haggar said, stepping in front of her limb experiments. She laid a nimble hand over them, judging Keith carefully as she added, “He’s hardly a match, you know. You didn’t even bother getting him through all his necessary training—sure, wall filters are great, but it certainly isn’t enough.”

“We aren’t here for that,” Allura hissed. “Tell us where the McClain family is, and Shiro as well. We don’t have time for this.”

“Of course you do,” she announced eagerly, her smirk reminding Keith of Coran’s sly grin. “No one comes down here except for myself, and several other protégé. We can talk for as long as you want, my _beloved_ little sister.”

Allura’s lip twitched, her face heating up. Before she could say or do anything rash, Keith found the voice to speak. “Please. I made a promise to a friend. I don’t want any harm to come to them.”

Haggar narrowed her eyes at him, stepping away from the table to stare him down. She bent over so they were practically nose-to-nose. “Whatever it is that makes you so _special_ ,” she started, “isn’t enough to impress me. Even if you are Allura’s henchman, that doesn’t excuse your ignorance.”

Keith glowered at her, wondering whether or not now was the chance to use the pistol still held tightly in his grasp. But truth be told, he realized that Allura never truly gave him the green light to kill Haggar. And now he knew why. 

Haggar leaned back and looked at Allura and Coran. She waved her hand dismissively and said, “I’ll show you where Shiro is. Seems like the boy’s attached to him after all. And you’re no better.” She looked pointedly at Allura before walking off to the corridor behind them. 

Keith stumbled on the first step he made. His feet felt flimsy, and suddenly the ache in his ankle became tangible again. He winced, holding his hand to the wall for support. “You okay there?” Coran asked, holding a hand to his back. Keith tested his ankle again, wondering why now he was suddenly feeling the pain that tended to come with kicking human skulls around.

“I—I don’t know. It was hurting this morning but not like this,” he confessed.

“Haggar’s shadows do that,” Allura murmured from behind. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they temporarily drop a mimic’s strength filter. Take it slow.” But he didn’t _want_ to take it slow. He wanted to find Shiro—he didn’t want to listen to her. _Especially_ when she failed to mention the crucial detail of her relationship with Haggar.

They followed the sound of Haggar’s footsteps ahead. Keith could sense that Coran’s weapon was ready, perhaps preparing for what would come after Haggar brought them to Shiro. He didn’t expect the trip to take nearly as little time as it did, and after Allura struck one of Coran’s matches did he realize why Shiro’s cell was in such close proximity to Haggar’s experimental den.

“Shiro!” she cried out, rushing in front of Haggar. Her sister all but melted into the dark of the corridors if it weren’t for her pure white hair. Faintly, Keith made out the sound of Shiro saying, “Allura?”

Keith’s throat swelled, and his eyes misted over as they adjusted to the light, and to the figure sitting up from the cell cot. He noted how the light seemed to center on Shiro as he stood up, raising a hand to block the light. His other arm, held at his side, melted into the shadows like Haggar and her cloak.

Keith hurried to the bars, clinging to them as Shiro un-squinted his eyes and stepped up to the bars. He was staring at Allura, but upon realizing Keith was there, quickly reached for him through the bars. “You shouldn’t be here,” he told Keith sharply, leaning down to his level so their foreheads pressed against one another through the bars. “It isn’t safe for you—”

“But—But we came to get you,” Keith argued, speaking fast. “Where’s the key?” he asked, turning to look behind Allura.

His bottom of his stomach dropped when he couldn’t find Haggar anywhere.

Keith turned in all directions, looking around Coran as Allura reached into the cell, the match dwindling in her fingers. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you?” Allura asked him. Keith looked back just as she touched Shiro’s shoulder, and he hissed, twisting his arm away. Allura’s dark skin made the flesh of Shiro’s face infinitely paler—paler than it should have been.

He could feel where Shiro’s perspiration had touched his own forehead.

Allura’s hands retracted from the bars, instantly whirling to shout at her sister—finding that Haggar was already gone. “Where’d she go!” Allura seethed, the flame licking her thumb. She threw it on the ground and stomped it out, going for another.

“I didn’t see where she went—she just vanished,” Coran said.

“ _Find her then!_ ” Allura screamed striking another match and brightening the dark again. Keith grabbed it from her before she could run off with it in her rage, and used it to light the key hole. Shiro knelt in front of him, as Keith attempted the same method he used before. He focused his attention on the lock, and not the argument spiking behind him between Coran and Allura.

He focused entirely on the lock, so he wouldn’t have to see Shiro’s shoulder, and whatever it was that hurt it.

“We’re gonna get Lance’s family out of here too,” Keith said. “They were taken last night.”

“So I’ve heard,” Shiro muttered through gritted teeth. Keith hesitated over the lock, and resisted the urge to groan in frustration when the invisible mould came loose. He formed it again, fingers shaking as he held it over the opening, and pushed it in slowly, gradually. He could feel the sweat at his hairline begin to drip over his temple. 

The instant the lock came undone, the door swung in, and Shiro shuffled out of the way, only to fall towards Keith when the opening was large enough. Keith caught him, and was surprised by how light his father was. He pulled Shiro up by the torso, with Coran’s assistance with taking the match from Keith and grabbing Shiro’s good arm. Something hard and cold slapped over Keith’s arms on Shiro’s abdomen. He cringed at the feel of it, and wished he hadn’t looked.

It was one of Haggar’s experimental arms.

“Shit,” Shiro huffed, his breath on Keith’s hair as he leaned over him. “I’m still… my legs are numb.”

“Anesthesia Haggar used, most likely,” Coran said, to which Allura remarked with a bitter, “She wasted _no time at all_.”

They barely got a step towards her when Shiro bit out, “You shouldn’t have brought Keith here.”

“Possessive of your son, now aren’t you?” Allura commented, to which he replied with a half-hearted laugh. She hesitated, turning her eyes down the hall. Her brows became set in a stiff, tense line before she began the trek back to the experiment room. Coran and Keith helped Shiro walk the numbness out of his legs as they entered the open room, and started for the door Haggar came through.

Allura held it open for them, assisting in walking Shiro through the doorway. She slipped the map out of Keith’s pocket, and opened the waterproof bag to unfold the image on the paper. She skimmed it quickly and efficiently, and pieced together the approximate location of where they were based on her internal compass. 

“I imagine we’re here—facing north. Another floor up and we’ll be in the servant quarters,” she explained.

“How likely are your birds to be up there?” Coran asked, and she replied with a vague answer, something mumbled under her breath. 

Keith kept his internal monologue to himself. Every fiber of his being was screeching like metal against metal—the exact material holding onto his arms for support. Why wasn’t Shiro more upset about it? Was he just being this way to avoid potential combustion? Keith felt like he was crippling under it. Shiro’s arm was gone and was no one going to _address that?_

Allura navigated them to the nearest servant door—which was a solid ten minute walk from Haggar’s experimental den. By then, Shiro collapsed against one of the walls and sagged down against it, panting. The entire walk had involved unresponsive movements of Shiro’s legs on the matter of whatever anesthetic Haggar gave him.

“I’m going to find my birds,” Allura told them. “Coran, you must stay with Shiro until then, and help me carry him up to the servant’s quarters when preparations are made.”

“Sounds good, m’lady,” Coran said, voice not nearly as chipper as it usually was. “And this bird right here?”

“Keith,” Allura said, turning to him in the faint light held by the match. She hesitated a second, perhaps pointedly avoiding Shiro when she said, “I want you to scope out the cell sector up ahead. With your filters, the guards are unlikely to even see you—it’s safer for you than it is for us.”

He could tell Shiro was about to argue, but Keith quickly butted in. “I can do that.”

“Perfect. And don’t go out of your way to kill anyone—you’d have the concern of stashing the body, avoiding suspicion from the other members of the patrol… but if it comes to it, or you have an opportunity to both kill and hide the body, don’t hesitate,” Allura told him, and Keith gave a soldier-like nod.

“No, Keith—” Shiro gasped, his metal hand tightening. Allura slipped her arm behind Keith, moving to grab Shiro. “Wait, _please—_ ”

“I’ll be fine, dad, I promise,” Keith insisted, pulling his arm away with the difficulty of prying Shiro’s fingers off. Shiro continued to whimper for him to stop, and Keith looked wide-eyed at Coran. His mentor nodded to him, and it was enough reassurance to boost Keith away from them and down the corridor.

He jogged the distance to the far corner that curved southward. He trailed his fingers along the walls, though they began to take shape to his eyes—these corridors were maintained by _someone_ , and lit by _someone_. Eventually Keith found himself at the heavily-locked doors of cells. 

The cell sector.

Keith peered through every last eye piece, quick when the metal scraped against metal, and slammed shut again. It was the only sound that followed him, at least, until guards passed. He disappeared against the walls and didn’t make a single noise to alert them, even as they walked no more than two inches from where he held his breath tight in his chest.

His eyes followed the guards as they walked around the block, disappearing around the corner. He let out his breath and darted across the hall, opening an empty cell, and then another, and another. He made his way through one empty room after another. There were more than he dared to count until he realized that the reason there was only one patrol was simply because there was no one to guard here. There were only two guards in this sector for a reason.

Upon their next long, _long_ lap, Keith followed them. They dipped into another sector, and Keith walked behind them the entire way. He was surprised by the confidence in his soundproof steps, and how his stride seemed to mimic that of the guards. He listened to their conversations like he had with Prorok and Sendak back in the days when he was simply one of Allura’s birds.

Their route took them through a heavy arched doorway where the guards posted there shared a simple chat with one another. Keith slipped past them, directly before the eyes of one of the passing men. They only seemed to glance at him briefly, as if he were a gust of unexpected wind, before returning to their conversation.

Keith hugged the wall as two guards turned around the corner, heading towards him. He was thankful that the corridors were a decent width.

As soon as the guards left, he slid open the eye slot on one of the cells. Keith’s breath hitched at the sight of two people inside, the light catching on their night clothes—the clothes they came in with. He shut it with the certainty that they weren’t part of Lance’s family, but he still had the guilt of not having the time or resources to save them all.

Every occupied cell was another punch to Keith’s chest. He felt it sinking through his skin like cold-shivers, and every passing guard seemed to make his heart beat faster. It felt impossible after twenty cells that he would even find the McClains.

He yanked open one of the slots just as a guard turned the corner. Keith froze, as did the guard, noting the sound of one of the slots opening. The guard stared at him—or, more accurately, at the open slot. Keith spun away from it, sliding to the open space beside the door as the guard marched up, glaring at the door and then inside.

“Which one of you did this?” the female guard hissed inside.

“I-It opened by itself—” Keith held his gasp in at the familiar sound of Lance’s eldest sister. He’d never heard her so vulnerable before—she was always so fierce around Keith ever since he accidentally somehow insulted her dress the first day they met.

“Likely story,” the guard sneered, slamming the slot shut and going for the lock. Keith stared at the keyring—the woman in armor—the slot where he could hear Lance’s sisters just behind it. 

The second the guard unlocked the door, Keith yanked a blade out from his belt and jabbed it in the soft area of the armor just inside the armpit. Before she could shriek, Keith swung around behind her and clammed a hand over her mouth and heaved the blade out from beneath her arm. He stabbed it through the open part of the neck piece—just beneath her chin. Blood splattered between Keith’s fingers over her mouth, and she slipped out of his arms.

He held her body to the side and swung the door open. Light spilled in, and Lance’s sisters quieted, only to shriek when he dropped the guard onto the floor. He flipped the guard’s legs in and removed the key from the open lock. 

“It’s just me—Keith,” he said.

“Wha—How did you— _Keith?_ ” Lance’s eldest sister exclaimed. Her sister was crying out, “ _Jane!_ ” They were cuffed away from each other, across the room from one another. Keith went to Jane McClain first, and abandoned the keys to unlock the cuff on her ankle by pressing his hand to it. He pushed an invisible mould into it, and the hand he held her leg still with could pick up the tremors underneath her skin.

“Keith,” she hissed, grabbing his arm when the lock came undone. “Where are my brothers? They didn’t come with us—I was afraid they—”

“They’re fine,” he said quickly. “They’re safe. Now could you help me calm down Emma. You’ll have to be quiet.”

Jane nodded quickly, brushing the back of her hand over her cheeks as the both of them moved over to her youngest sister. Emma clung to Jane the second she was close enough, and as Jane whispered soft, reassuring words, Keith placed his hands over Emma’s ankle and pressed his palm against the opening of the lock.

It took several tries simply because Emma was squirming—at least, that’s what Keith told himself. He liked to think that his lock-breaking skills were improving. When Emma was freed, she leapt up into Jane’s arms. “Do you remember where they took your parents?” Keith whispered to her.

Jane was breathing hard, and gave an unsure shrug. Keith could tell she was shaking by the quivering of her lips, and how he could see the whites of her eyes surrounding her wide, blown-out pupils. 

“Jane,” he stressed, and she looked at him, eyes in the light coming through the door crack. “We’ll find them. Tell me what you remember, from coming in here.”

She licked her lips fast and stumbled over the first few words. “—Th-They took my—my father, but I don’t—I do not think mama’s real far,” she said. 

Keith nodded and glanced at the door, and at the body Jane was clearly trying to avoid. He turned to her with a finger on his lips and stepped to the door. He recognized the dangers of bringing non-mimics with him. Jane and Emma would be exposed to whatever sort of weapons the guards held. He noted the revolver on the back of the female guard’s belt.

“I’m gonna need you and Emma to stay in here,” Keith whispered, and instantly was argued against with, “ _No!_ Don’t leave us here—”

He shut the door a tad more, recognizing the telltale noise of footsteps coming this way. He closed it as quietly as possible and whispered to her, “I can’t get your mom without _some_ level of stealth. And I can’t cover for both of you.” Jane sucked in her lip, and they both listened to the passing guard, knowing full well that there was a dead one on the ground next to them.

After the guard passed, Jane nodded. “All right. We will stay here, but _please_ be quick.”

“I will,” he promised, and slipped back through the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... So I didn't finish writing this. I think there will be about three chapters left to this... O.o
> 
> In other news, I'm starting to post chapters of my new webcomic, [_Spaced Out_](https://www.wattpad.com/351386864-spaced-out-teaser). Check it out and let me know what you think :D


	17. Being Imitated

Keith went through the hallway, sliding open door slots and searching for Lance’s mother. He reached the corner and flattened himself against the wall. A guard passed through the intersection, and he swung around the corner to follow him. Keith paused at the doors in this corridor, waiting for the guard to pass before sliding open the first slot. The light illuminated the walls on the far side of the room.

And he recognized the dark curls turned away from him. 

“Lady McClain?” Keith whispered, and instantly the woman spun around, pupils wide in the dark. She made a move to stand up, and Keith transitioned to the keyhole. He took the key ring to the cell doors and inserted the one the guard used on Jane and Emma’s cell. It worked perfectly.

The door clicked open and he slipped inside, taking the keys with him. He left the door unlocked but closed. “Who are you?” she questioned. “Where’s my husband?”

“It’s me, Keith,” he answered, kneeling beside her legs. He reached for her ankle and held the lock tightly in his fist. He told her about Lance and Sebastian, and Jane and Emma. “Do you remember anything about where they took your husband?”

The relief from the previous news vanished as she thought hard about his question. It was enough time for Keith to shed her of the metal cuffs. He helped her up and waited until she said, “I think they may have taken him up for interrogation. The King wanted to speak with him directly—but—”

“I’ll find him,” Keith promised before he could even consider the consequences of it. As he walked her out of the cell, he reprimanded himself for it. He shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t make promises like that, especially when the King was involved. Who knew how long they’d hold on to Lord McClain? Would they interrogate him and put him back in a cell? Or would they simply… dispose of him?

The rounded the corner, Keith supporting Lady McClain by offering his arm to her. He kept his eyes and ears in front and behind them, preparing for the worst. Thankfully, it didn’t come.

“Just in here,” he whispered to her, knocking on the cell door. Instantly Jane opened it up, and Lady McClain gasped out a sob, rushing in and hugging her girls to her chest. “We don’t have much time. There are guards on the way we’re heading—I’ll have to go ahead and clear the path,” Keith whispered as he hurried them out of the cell. He shut the door behind them, and deposited the cell keys into the pocket with the safe house keyring. 

“How did you get by them?” Lady McClain whispered, taking Emma up into her arms as Keith walked them down the hall. He looked at her briefly and didn’t answer.

At the corner he peered down each end of the hall, aware that this must have been the route of the female guard—there wouldn’t be any disturbances until they had to transition to the second cell sector. They ran the length of the hall, and at the end of it, Lady McClain leant against the wall to catch her breath, nodding quickly to Keith when he asked if she was all right.

He disappeared from sight to look around the corner, where the sectors connected. He heard Jane take in a sharp breath, only to release it when Keith came back to them. “You three stay here. Don’t make any noise until I call to you all right?”

Jane was paler than all hell, staring at him in shock. Lady McClain recovered the fastest to say, “We understand. Be careful.”

He nodded before throwing up a filter and heading down the hall to the guards flanking either side of the archway. It was a wide, high stone arc divided down the middle by folded iron gates—for when they shut down separate sectors. Keith approached one of them, coming in close from behind and remembering the soft part of their armor by the joints. 

The instant he jammed his knife into the crook of the man’s elbow, he let out a shocked shriek and screamed until Keith slapped his hand over the man’s mouth, grabbed his hair, and yanked his head sharply to the side. He went down with the snap of his neck.

The other guard frantically pulled up his gun, screaming for help with the patrol from the empty sector came running around the corner. Keith kicked the revolver out of the man’s grip, swung the man’s arm up and around, locking him in front of Keith as the two guards pelted them with every bullet from their revolvers. A sharp, slicing sting took a hit to Keith’s upper arm, and again to the hand he held the corpse’s arms with. 

Their cartridges clattered to the ground, and the shells of their bullets clanked about. Keith took this opportunity to swing his hands out from the pockets on his belt, dropping the corpse in time to chuck one throwing knife after the other—both landing perfectly through the throats of the guards. A spray of blood flicked off from his hand at the motion, but he didn’t hesitate to hiss for Jane, Emma, and Lady McClain to _hurry the hell up_.

They ran, skittish past the dead bodies. Emma let out a shrill cry that her mother swiftly silenced. “The guards’ll be here soon,” Keith told them. “I hoped they wouldn’t fire any guns.”

“Which way?” Lady McClain demanded as they reached the end of the hall. They heard a distant shout, and Keith resisted the urge to ripple out of sight—but that wouldn’t do anyone any good. 

“This way,” Keith whispered, charging ahead and following the course he took to get there. 

They reached the distant hallway that faded into darkness. Keith spoke quietly to keep them on track, until they heard Coran’s voice not far away. “Keith, I heard guns go off and—you found them! Perfect. Where’s Lord McClain?” he asked, lighting a match for them to see. Coran probably didn’t need a match at all—which explained why the found him in darkness.

“I have to investigate that. Get them to safety, and where’s Shiro?” Keith whispered.

“Allura’s got him,” Coran said, which was instantly rebutted with, “ _Allura_?” 

They turned to Lady McClain, who held Emma’s head close to her shoulder. Her expression twisted into a snarl. “She’s the reason we’re in this mess—we were perfectly fine without having _her—_ ”

“I know, but please listen,” Keith insisted, hushed. “It was a misunderstanding. One of your employees on the plantation gave word that your husband knows something about Allura—and we’ll _save him_ and keep you guys safe. But you have to trust her. Lance and Sebastian are being taken care of and kept safe because of _her_. I just want the same for you three, and Lord McClain.”

Lady McClain glowered at him for a moment longer, and readjusted her grip on Emma. “I am only doing this because you are Lance’s dear friend, and I trust you. But please bring Dean back to us.”

“I will. I promise,” he said. _Again with the ridiculous promises_ , he seethed to himself as he watched Coran take them away up the steps to the servant’s quarters. Before leaving entirely, Coran looked down at him.

“I’ll see that one of Allura’s birds waits nearby to take you and Dean out a safe route. They’ll be at this stairwell,” he said. Keith nodded in understanding before turning and disappearing into the corridor.

  


  


Keith had never set foot in the King’s palace before. As a street rat, he never expected to. It was sort of like how he never expected to experience Heaven, and yet somehow he found himself looked after and cared for by Shiro, Pidge, Hunk, and Lance. It seemed as though the moment Allura stepped into his life, all of the ‘impossible’ parts of life suddenly became… possible.

So he tried not to get excited over the fact that he was _walking_ through the _palace_.

The floors and columns were pure marble—the surface underneath his feet simply tiled with a smooth, reflective surface. And this wasn’t even the pristine part—the part people toured, the part that was there for show. This was where infinite servants catered to Zarkon and his family. This was where people of royalty walked, and socialized on a daily basis.

Keith went to areas he suspected the guards were stationed—where interrogations would take place. He remained entirely invisible, and stayed where the reflective tile surface would assist in his distortions. A simple flicker of the light would be enough to convince guards that _no, there couldn’t possibly be a person standing there_ …

He meandered up staircases, wandered around the guards’ living quarters. He listened in on conversations with little to no success. There wasn’t a single mention of McClain anywhere.

As a last-ditch effort he figured checking the entrance of the tunnel might help. Sure, there would he dozens of guards, and the panic of some being let loose, but he wasn’t where else they would interrogate Lord McClain.

He picked up his pace, walking across the hallway that flanked the grand conference rooms behind the throne atrium. After studying the map, he recalled even the most obscure places. He remembered where the kitchens were simply because Coran always said, “Poison is the best friend you use to get what you want!” Keith imagined that was the reason _they_ were best friends, or why Coran was even friends with Allura to begin with.

He checked in on one of the conference rooms, just to see if Lord McClain would be having a civil chat with Zarkon, but was interrupted by a shocked voice—

“You are an imitation?”

Startled, Keith swung around, freeing a knife and poising it in the direction of the voice, but was shocked to find empty air there. He could have sworn he heard it come from—

“Clearly not a skilled one. Your eyes are just as foggy as a common person.”

He saw a flicker of _someone_ standing there, and it was just enough to catch sight of the thick braid they had falling over their shoulder. Their voice was dim and bland, and hard to decipher between genders. “I can’t show myself, so just trust me. Follow my voice.”

Keith seriously debated the logic of following a ghost around _Zarkon’s palace_ , but then again, there weren’t many mimics out there to begin with. In fact, he’d never heard of another one aside from himself, and the halflings Coran mentioned.

They coaxed him along down the hallway until reaching one of the curved stairwells leading up one of the palace’s taller towers. He felt a hand on his wrist, dragging him behind the railing, and underneath the stone steps. 

She came into focus only then in the shadows.

“I am surprised to see another imitation. I only know of members of the royal family who have the full set of skills. Though… it does seem you lack the second skill…”

Keith scowled at her, folding his arms over his chest. She didn’t look familiar at all—in fact, he’d never seen anyone like her. She carried herself with a sort of useless air—like it didn’t matter one way or the other whether or not she slept at all the previous night. It showed on her hollow eye sockets, and the sharp, defined parts of her pale cheeks, which gave away her age. She must have been a decade older than Keith, but her yellowish eyes were what kept him rooted there—they were like a lot of the higher-status individuals, like Sendak, or Prorok… Thace…

“You’re royalty, then, I assume,” Keith commented.

“Yes, and clearly you aren’t here to assassinate me, but you’re here to assassinate someone,” she remarked, studying a fold on the sleeve of her dress. 

“I’m not here to assassinate anyone.”

“Yes, then why are you lingering behind the atrium?” she countered, pegging him with her sharp eyes. He narrowed his. “I like imitations. But from experience, it’s a sort of art you learn at a young age. That wasn’t the case for you, was it?”

Her heavy, dark eyebrow arched up, and he mimicked it. “Who the hell are you? If you’re royalty, wouldn’t you _much prefer_ marching me straight to the guards we both know are on the other side of that hall? Instead of leading me here? Because according to you, _clearly_ I don’t belong here.”

She shushed him afterwards, a hand to her lip. She disappeared from sight, but Keith was surprised that he was actually able to see her outline this time. He could see the way the world seemed to warp around her, like she was made of mirrors, covering the contours of her face, and her arms as she reached up to grip the railing. She looked up, and she reflected the sight of someone passing down a floor above.

Keith disappeared, and they both waited for the servant to step out of the stairwell column, and out into the hallway.

“You may call me Zeena,” she said, and the name instantly triggered something in Keith’s head. He refused to amuse her with the shock he experienced inside, though. 

He blinked for a moment and said, “The Princess.”

“Yes, we have established that,” she drawled. “Now it’s customary for you to share your name so I know who you are.”

“That seems like an idiotic thing to do, considering you could easily relay that to someone else,” Keith argued, but she merely stared at him in that same blank way that said that either way, it didn’t matter what he said. She wasn’t likely to do anything with it. _And besides, she knows Shiro—that is, if Shiro’s story was true_. He cleared his throat and said, “Keith Shirogane. I’m Takashi’s adopted son.”

Instantly her dull eyes flew wide open. _So much for maintaining a cool, calm exterior_ , he mused. 

“You’re Takashi’s son?” she breathed out, a hand pressing to her chest. “How is he?”

Keith nearly said the opposite. He forgot about what happened no more than an hour prior. About what happened to Shiro. “He isn’t good—he was taken by Sendak. I’ve found him, but I’m looking for someone else.”

“Is he all right, though?” she demanded, and Keith gave a half-shrug. Her expression turned cold, stoic. “Who are you looking for.”

Keith whispered the name to her, and she shook her head, confused. “I haven’t heard anything about Lord McClain,” she admitted. 

“Then what were you doing lurking in the hallway?” he countered, folding his arms. “Filters are more or less used for stealth.”

She likewise folded her arms, her defenses growing. “What _I_ was doing is none of your concern.” She looked him up and down, and he took a self-conscious step back from her. “But what _does_ concern me is whatever you need McClain for. Why would he be brought here?” she asked. “Sendak takes prisoners and arrestees to the prison.”

Keith figured now probably wasn’t the time to tell her that the real prison was right beneath their feet.

“Just… trust me when I say that he’s here. I trusted you not to kill me, you owe me,” he said, and she glared at him sharply, standing straighter. She was the same height as him, despite the fact that he was nearly done growing by then.

“Follow me,” she ordered, about to step ahead, but he grabbed her by the arm and reeled her back.

“ _No_. How do I know I can trust you?” he demanded.

She leaned in, so her sneer was awfully clear. “Any friend of Takashi’s is a friend of mine. Come on now.”

After a moment of hesitation, he followed after her. They disappeared together in the hallway, and all he could do was stare at her. Was this what Coran saw every time Keith vanished? He felt like asking, but there were servants in the hallway, so he simply strode alongside her. They went back to the conference room, and she slipped him inside. 

Once the door shut, Keith asked, “Do we all look like mirrors to other halflings and… imitations?”

This caused her to pause for a moment, and look back at him. Her filter shimmered away around her face, displaying a pocket in her distorted reality where Keith could see her arched brow, and the dark, black hair hung over one of her eyes. “Mirrors?” she repeated.

“Yes, you look like… your entire body is made out of mirrors,” he explained.

She halted for a second to consider it before saying, “I suppose it’s different for everyone. Though, your filter is strong. But once I got your attention it became easier to see you. It’s how our eyes adapt to it, I guess. And I’m guessing you’ve never seen another imitation before.”

Keith didn’t answer, so she lifted her filter back up and continued onward.

She looked at him for a moment longer before continuing onward. They walked the length of the room encircled by heavy wooden desks all connected to surround the open center. They skirted around it and came to the door that would lead to the throne atrium.

She leant her hands against it and looked to him expectantly. He could see himself reflected against the convex curves of her face, to where he dipped into the sockets of her eyes. The surface was so crystal clear, unlike any mirror he ever looked in, or any river he stood by. He could see a version of himself without his filter, and wondered briefly if every mirror showed him, with or without the filter—

Though he knew that wasn’t true. When Coran was first teaching him the basics of mimicry, it would be a lie to say he hadn’t spent hours in front of a mirror, flickering in and out of reality.

“Do you hear that?” she whispered to him, and he shook his head. She brought him closer to the door. “ _Listen_ ,” she hummed.

He closed his eyes and concentrated. They were both quiet, and he was sure she could hear everything coming from the other side of that goddamn door and Keith couldn’t pick up a single thing. He was starting to wonder if what Coran said was right—perhaps he just wasn’t fit to learn the second set of skills like halflings can.

“I can’t hear anything,” he confessed.

“Let’s get a closer look then,” she suggested, and slowly, she turned the knob on the door and pushed it open. There wasn’t even a creak.

They entered the atrium through the back, to the right of the throne itself. Instantly Keith was bombarded by the echoing of voices reverberating against one another—how was it possible he couldn’t hear it from the other side of the door? It was so loud that Keith’s sensitive ears practically burst, and he could swear Zeena was smirking at him.

The door shut behind them with barely a glance given to them by the guards. There were dozens of them, lining the walls and entrances. Keith stuck to Zeena’s side as she walked them over the marble tiles.

It was like Keith wasn’t even present. It was like he could see Lord McClain, but had no way of touching him, talking to him, _saving him_ —

“—You _killed_ my worker—Why would you do such a thing?” Lord McClain shouted. “He did nothing! If anything he _helped—_ ”

“So far I find it hard to believe he helped with shit considering you have failed to share your intel,” a man replied, voice bitter. They walked around the shadow of the throne, and Keith’s mouth went dry at the sight they beheld. 

The man had to be over six feet in stature—regal armor broadening his shoulders twice over. His thick black hair was slicked back, revealing his heavyset brow and the threatening glare of his eyes. His thin lips pulled back in a sneer. “I-I don’t know anything about her, I swear it,” Lord McClain stammered. “Just please, I had nothing to do with it—I don’t… I don’t know who of _any_ imitations that would compromise your men’s—”

“Father,” Zeena said aloud, the voice coming from the air. Instantly the King’s attention turned to them, and Keith froze, refraining from following Zeena as she strode up nearly beside Lord McClain. 

King Zarkon’s eyes remained on her. 

“I found a peaceful imitation in our hallways. I believe he might have something to do with the trouble with Sendak.” _This skanky bitch_ … Keith seethed, turning his sharp glare onto her as he stormed towards her, fists clenched tight at his sides, gripping the knives on his belt.

“ _Peaceful_ ,” the King remarked, and it seemed to hiss over his lips. Keith hesitated, no more than a few feet from stabbing Zeena in the gut. “He killed a dozen of my men, took McClain’s sons— _Murdered_ my commander—”

“Yes, and he’s in the halls as we speak,” she said. Keith faltered, turning his eyes onto Zarkon and willing himself to remain as invisible as possible. He wondered how likely it was for Zarkon to simply _ignore Keith like that_ if he knew Keith was there. “He came for one a prisoner of yours.”

Keith hovered next to Lord McClain, wishing he could reassure the man somehow that everything would be all right. That his family was safe. 

The King strode down the steps immediately, commanding that his guards search the entire palace—find the imitation that was causing the disturbance. He continued to march directly to them, even as a guard stepped up to inquire about McClain. “Leave him. I’ll take care of him,” Zarkon hissed, dismissing the man.

As the atrium cleared out, Keith found himself approached face-to-face by the King. He came up to Zeena and said, lips barely moving, “Did you recognize the imitation.”

She shook her head. “I never met him before this.”

He could clearly see the tick in Zarkon’s jaw, and the pale complexion of his face growing whiter with his rage. Zarkon barely turned to Lord McClain before his hand shot out—he just hadn’t expected it to grab Keith by the throat with such force.

“Keith!” Lord McClain shouted, and screamed when Zarkon pulled on Keith’s throat, lifting Keith’s feet from the ground with such ease. 

His head felt like it was bubbling, pulsing with blood and the air he couldn’t quite catch. He scraped the edges of his knives against Zarkon’s wrist as he clawed to free himself. “You know this imitation?” Zarkon hissed at Lord McClain, beady yellow eyes darting to Lance’s father.

Keith’s vision started to go black, blood pounding in his ears. Just before Lord McClain got a word out, Keith jabbed the end of his knife into the King’s wrist, shoving it through. 

The King screamed, dropping Keith. He collapsed to the ground, coughing and struggling to stand again. He heaved a breathless gasp, hand on his throat. Zeena was quiet as she moved to stand between Keith and her father. “I did not intend for you to attack him,” she said.

“ _Move out of my way_!” he screamed, grabbing her by the shoulder. Keith looked up, noting that he could just throw her—he could _chuck her_ if he wanted—but that didn’t seem to be his intention. And Zeena held her ground. “What the hell is it?” he hissed. 

“Only royalty has ever shown signs of imitation,” she said. “Keith was adopted by a nobleman. He’s new to this, and it is likely he only recently learned about his abilities.”

Keith stayed on the ground, knelt beside Lord McClain. He lowered his gaze, wondering how the hell he got himself here. Clearly Zeena wasn’t as rational as he anticipated—it explained her insane rebellious nature that led to the death of Alis Shirogane. Of course it would lead him straight into Zarkon’s critical gaze.

Lord McClain’s attention turned to Keith, and he could see the man’s horrified eyes only grow wider as the realization hit them. Keith held his breath until Zeena commanded, “Keith, stand up.”

A few seconds later, in which Keith continued to sit as still as stone, a harsher, more commanding voice hissed, “ _Now_ , boy.”

“ _No_ ,” Keith seethed, tearing his eyes up from the ground. He glared up at the King, his eyes then darting to Zeena. “I’m not who you think I am. _I am not_.”

“Eighteen years ago you lost a son,” Lord McClain whispered under his breath, eyes still on Keith. “The resemblance is…”

His voice sputtered out as the shadow lowered over them. Keith didn’t move his eyes off of the King as he knelt in front of Keith. His jaw was ticking, his yellow eyes honed in on Keith’s dark, silvery ones. 

A _plip_ of blood hit the marble tiles, and Keith could see the read dripping down Zarkon’s raised arm, where his dagger was still impaled through the edge of Zarkon’s wrist.

“Who were your parents, before you were adopted,” the King asked, his voice even, and Keith found it condescending, as if daring him to say the names he knew Keith didn’t know. Keith’s narrow eyes translated into the rage boiling in the pit of his stomach the longer he stayed quiet.

“ _You_ are not my father,” Keith seethed through clenched teeth. 

“ _Tell me who is then!_ ” Zarkon roared, and the tenseness of his jaw warned Keith. The instant Zarkon raised his hand on Keith, he dodged the grab and ducked back. He twisted a knife into his hand and raised it up, blocking him with the edge of his blade. 

The knife cut into Zarkon’s palm, but he only closed his fingers around it and pressed harder, backing Keith into the ground with it. Zeena watched mildly from the side, waiting patiently for Keith to say the name. 

Keith felt blood pool against his shoulder when Zarkon’s other hand pressed against it. Blood coursed over the King’s fingers like rivulets of water.

“ _Shiro’s_ my father—y-you _took him from me!_ ” Keith screamed, shoving his shoulder out from under Zarkon’s hand. Blind with rage, he slammed his head against Zarkon’s and felt the force of it ricochet through his head, and to the back of his skull when his head slammed back onto the marble again. 

The second Zarkon pulled back, bloodied hand yanking the knife from Keith’s grip, Keith disappeared out from under him and squirmed away, swaying with the effort. He grabbed Lord McClain by the back of his night shirt and dodged the hand Zarkon attempted to grab him with. Keith was certain he was flickering in and out of focus with how fast he moved, jolting this way and that to avoid Zarkon’s heavy hands until one finally grabbed purchase on Keith’s hand.

He crushed Keith’s hand between his fingers, and he cried out at the pain of it—the sensation of his fingers splintering. The slice on Zarkon’s hand painted Keith’s chin and cheeks red when he grabbed Keith by the head and yanked him forward.

The sticky heat of it made his stomach churn, and the sneer on Zarkon’s slip lips.

“You’re Shirogane’s false son,” he hissed at Keith’s face as he scraped at Zarkon’s arms, trying to shove him away with his one good hand. Zarkon’s lip tugged up, revealing his teeth as he spat, “Figures. Without Alis, he couldn’t have another legitimate son anyway.”

“ _Don’t talk about her!_ ” Keith screamed.

“About a woman you’ve never met?” he fumed, “About a woman who _isn’t related to you—_ ”

“Stop it! You—You killed her!” he shouted, vision blurring as he scrambled to catch hold of _something_. He clawed at Zarkon’s shoulder—his neck—

The King scoffed, hissing, “You sound like him— _weak_ —you may be my son, but you are inadequate for royalty.” 

Keith found purchase, hooking his fingers around the bone of Zarkon’s jaw. Zarkon shoved Keith’s crushed hand away, and it fell loosely at his side as his good hand grabbed hold of Zarkon’s lip—his cheekbone—frantically as Zarkon pulled at his arm. 

Keith shoved his thumb against the edge of Zarkon’s skull where his eye socket poked through. The action was all too familiar—shoving his thumb into Zarkon’s eye even as he yanked at Keith’s arm and dropped his hand from Keith’s head. Zarkon cursed loud enough for it to rattle the inside of Keith’s ribcage as he scrambled away and ran for Lord McClain—

But Lance’s father was gone. 

“Lord McClain!” Keith shouted, spinning around and jolting when he realized—he was entirely alone.

King Zarkon disappeared. 

He panted hard, trying to quell the panic rising in his chest. _Where could Lord McClain have gone?_ Zeena wasn’t there. She had to have taken him. But he couldn’t be sure what she’d want with him—did she plan on returning him to the guards? 

He’d have to find a way to the cell sector again. He’d have to go through all the cells. He’d couldn’t leave without Lord McClain—he _couldn’t leave_ —

Something grazed the fabric on his left shoulder.

He scrambled away from it with a shout, instinctively drifting out of focus. The distortion vanished from the air, and he became one with the reflective tile flooring, and the blood splattered against it—

A _plip_ of blood sounded not too far away. Keith searched for the fresh dark spot on the white marble, and the leap of his heart was enough to make him a target.

He ran for the columns in the atrium, hearing the set of footsteps following him now that he was in motion. If he looked back, he could see the powerful six-foot frame charging for him, blinking in and out of focus—

He spun around one of the columns, slowing as he came around the other side, freezing near the wall as he watched a trail of blood scrape across the white column, ending in the four scrapes of Zarkon’s fingers, his thumb trailing behind them. Keith slowly raised a hand up over his mouth, becoming as quiet as possible in hopes the sound of their footsteps would muffle the sound of his own heartbeat. 

_His heartbeat_.

A warm, breath of air touched the curve of Keith’s ear.

“You don’t know a thing about what imitation _really_ is, do you boy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://i0.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/facebook/000/657/458/637.gif)  
> 
> 
> ^^ Proof that this didn't come out of left field. This has been the title of my document since I first opened it. Also, sneak peak of the next chapter WOOT WOOT


	18. Caged

Blood droplets trailed with Keith wherever he went. He heard his knife scrape across the marble when it was thrown. He knew he could run faster—Coran said—

_No—_ Keith wanted to scream— _Coran_ never _told you this_ —

He skidded past the atrium threshold. His hands dragged across the ground as he regained his balance, sprinting as fast as humanly possible through the halls. There were guards out here—all the guards Zarkon dismissed—looking for _him_. Running as fast as he was going, it was like the filter was being left behind.

He felt something skim his back, and it sent a wave of panic up his spine. 

Keith dodged the guard in front of him, grabbed his arm and spun him, putting a barrier between Keith and Zarkon. The King didn’t let up his filter, but he knew right where Keith was—and Keith knew where the King was the second the guard held against him began to scream, neck going purple.

Keith was shaking with the effort to keep quiet when suddenly the guard was ripped from his hands, and tossed across the hall. His back cracked against a nearby pillar, and he collapsed no more than a few strides away from Keith, and the other guards staring.

The King reappeared in the second it took to grab the front of Keith’s uniform and drag him forward. “You can _never_ run from me,” he sneered.

“L-Let me go— _Let me go!_ ” he shouted, feet scraping against Zarkon’s legs, even as King Zarkon began to walk ahead, pulling Keith with him every fucking step of the way. Keith shrieked, voice threadbare by the time his feet started skidding down the stairs, guards on all sides of them, unwilling to listen to anyone other than the King.

  


  


Soundproof, even to Keith’s sensitive ears. 

The lack of noise was giving him a headache. It was like someone took something so damn important to everyday life—something that happened _constantly_. He’d never been in a place as quiet as this. At home, he could always hear the wind, the trees outside rustling, Pidge breathing soft and even as she read, or worked on little trinkets.

He spent hours trying to figure out the goddamn door. There was nothing to it. Once it closed, there wasn’t even a knob to open it with. There weren’t locks, handles, hinges—it was just… _a wall_ , like the other three in the room.

Keith tucked his knees up and hid his eyes against them, breathing hard. Just listening to his pathetic whines echo back to him was enough to drive him mad. He wanted to think of _someone_ without wondering whether or not they _knew about this_. He wanted to know if Allura intentionally threw him into this, knowing the outcome. She always knew the outcome. She knew _everything_ —

A sob broke through his lips at the thought of his father—his _real_ father. There was so much more to fatherhood than biology alone. Keith wanted to believe that Shiro didn’t know, but his desperation earlier was enough to disprove that. Shiro hadn’t wanted this to happen. He wanted Keith to be safe. 

Keith managed to convince himself that his father hadn’t wanted Keith to know to prevent this all-encompassing ache in his chest.

Keith couldn’t possibly do anything other than stare into the dark. He couldn’t sleep in fear of someone coming for him. He couldn’t talk in fear of his voice failing him. He screamed enough to scrape all the lining in his esophagus raw again. 

When someone did come for him, Keith was only slightly prepared.

Without being able to hear outside the room, Keith kept to the side of where he knew the door was. He stayed there up until the moment the one sound in the room returned—the scraping of the door moving. Keith lunged to his feet, and the instant light hit, he darted for it, fists flying. 

The woman ducked back and shouted, “Whoa, easy there, boy—I get we aren’t particularly friends, but this is just ridiculous.”

Keith hesitated for only a second before screaming, voice raspy, “ _You took his arm! You hurt him—_ ”

He lunged for her, only to dart straight into a mist of black and be grabbed by the shirt from behind. He twisted on her, yanking on her arm and grabbing hold of her wrist. He raised the heel of his palm to Haggar’s elbow, threatening with it.

She tensed, narrowing her glowing yellow eyes at him. “Whatever the case, this all explains why Allura found you so… _valuable_. I can’t blame her,” she remarked, cringing under the effort of saying it.

Keith pressed harder with the heel of his palm.

“I’m here to let you know McClain is safe,” she said, acting as if Keith wasn’t prepared to break her arm. “The Princess brought him to me. I let him go.”

“Just like you did _Shiro_ ,” Keith questioned, bowing her arm. 

“ _No_ —that was different. Call that sibling rivalry—I hurt something she loves in return for something Allura did a long time ago. You’re just a boy—you wouldn’t understand anyhow,” she remarked, glowering down at him. He returned the look, feeling sick to his stomach with how bloodthirsty he felt. “Release my arm. Princess Zeena is here to see you.”

“I don’t want to see her,” Keith hissed instantly, which caused Haggar’s brow to arch. “She’s the reason I’m in here in the _first place!_ ”

“Whatever the case, she’s the Princess and you will do as she commands,” she snarled, and when Keith’s grip loosened, she wrenched her arm free. With a sweep of her shadowy cape, she led the way away from the cell.

It was impossibly dark, which told Keith exactly where they were: near Haggar’s experimentation den. The light from it glowed on the concrete flooring, growing brighter until they stepped through the archway and into the open. Keith rubbed a hand over his raw cheeks, and felt his skin catch on the sticky blood still on his face.

He heard the water running not far from him, and turned sharply to face it. Zeena’s heavy black braid was down her back now as she leaned over the sink and wrung out the cloth. She approached them and tossed the damp towel at him. “You look like shit,” she commented.

“Pretty language for a goddamn princess,” Keith retorted, raising the cloth up anyway. He scrubbed it on his face, turning away from her and her smirk.

“Haggar did some tests with the blood from your bullet wound—on your hand,” Princess Zeena explained, gesturing to the one that was both bloody from the wound she mentioned, and crushed under Zarkon’s fist. It hurt no matter where he held it, so he let it dangle at his side. “Congratulations. We are officially related.”

“You’re insane,” he all but spat. “I am _not_ your brother.”

“He’s been under Allura’s influence for several years now,” Haggar explained to Zeena, and he instantly rounded on her screaming, “I know what she is! That doesn’t make me one of her minions!”

Zeena studied him with that dull, bored look as he chucked the towel at the sink. It flopped to the bottom of it. “I wanted to be certain,” she said. “When I said royalty, imitation has only ever been in the bloodline of those who are likely to succeed the throne. My uncle never showed sign of imitation. I can only take the throne if my father permits it, but I am a full imitation. Eighteen years ago, there was an epidemic that resulted in my sibling’s capture the day he was born. Lord McClain was right about that much.”

When Keith didn’t say anything, Haggar touched his arm. He jerked away from her, holding his injured hand against his chest. “I asked Haggar to heal any of the wounds you sustained,” Princess Zeena explained.

“I’m not letting her near me,” Keith hissed, stepping away from Haggar only to bump into one of the metal tables. He shifted away from it, glaring at them both. “I need to go. How long was I in there?”

Haggar’s lips pulled back in irritation, and she bit out, “Hardly half a day. Now sit your ass down and let me heal you. You won’t get very far if you can’t use your hand, now would you?”

Keith glared at her his entire way to her table. He sat stiffly on it, and refused to flinch when she put her cold, stone-like hands over his arm. She lowered his hand from his chest and held it limply against her palm. His skin was blazing hot, and having it held against her cool fingers felt better than anything else. 

“I have to straighten out the bones. I’ll put you under—”

“ _No_ ,” he exclaimed. “Don’t drug me. Just… give me something to bite on.”

Haggar looked at him sharply, but it registered that he was being entirely serious. He had his bones readjusted before, and Haggar had been there for a bit of it that first day he met Allura. She knew he could take it, so Zeena fetched a fresh rag and gave it to Keith. He bundled it up and shoved it between his teeth. He held it there as Haggar’s fingers began to radiate a burning chill that was both numb and excruciating whenever she pried his fingers straight, one by one, joint by joint.

Tears clung to Keith’s cheeks like peeling, dry skin. His jaw ached by the time he peeled the cloth from it, saliva clinging to the fabric. He breathed hard, dropping his hand back against the table to hold himself up. After several minutes, Keith swayed to his feet, his insides feeling almost worse than his actual hand. 

Haggar pulled him hastily across the room and he didn’t even argue. He slumped against the sink and vomited bile that burned all the way up his throat—as if his mouth and throat weren’t already suffering enough. 

She gave him a glass of water, and he downed every last drop of it before slamming it onto the counter, panting hard. He leaned over the sink and waited, stomach lurching, but held back. At last he stepped away from the sink and looked at his wounded hand. He flexed his fingers and curled them slowly into a fist. He glanced at Haggar, shocked. “It’s… back to normal,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, that tends to happen when I heal people. Consider my debt repaid.”

At the mention of it, his shock turned into resentment. He glowered at her as he glanced at Zeena. She was still over by the table, watching him as if she hadn’t just witnessed whatever just happened. She absently tugged her braid over her shoulder and said, “I will tell my father you escaped when I went to talk to you. He knows I’m visiting, but—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Keith said through clenched teeth. 

It was time for this pity fest to come to a close.

  


  


Zeena and Haggar were the last people Keith saw for over a day. He spent his free time—which was literally _all of his time_ —trying unsuccessfully to sleep. He woke up to nightmares dissolving into the invasive darkness. It was that same blank nothingness he hated in the servant hallways in the McClain mansion. For the most part, he remained invisible not because he was practicing, or because there was anyone watching him—he did it because it made him feel safe. 

He’d never felt so helpless before Zarkon reminded him that Keith didn’t know _anything_ about what being an imitation takes. Being an imitation was… _nothing_ to people like Zeena and Zarkon, who could see and hear all. They could hear one another, see one another, no matter the circumstances. 

Keith wasn’t ready to face imitations like that. He wasn’t ready to face imitations at all: that was what Allura and Coran were worried about. It was what Shiro was worried about.

In the hours he slept, he had many dreams about finding Shiro in the cell. He had even more dreams about being chased with no hope for escape. He had dreams where King Zarkon held him down and no matter how much he screamed, pushed, kicked—he just couldn’t get away. It was like when Zarkon dragged him down here in the first place.

Zarkon was right about one thing: Keith was weak. He couldn’t fight on strength and imitation alone.

Keith’s stomach felt like it was converging in on itself, but for most of the day, he felt sick to his stomach. He knew it was hunger pains—he’d felt those before—but he was just grateful he felt like shit and not that he was _truly_ hungry. That was always pure torture.

At least he didn’t _feel_ hungry, until his stomach let out an anguished groan. He clutched at it, wishing he could shove the noise back inside, but it was too late. So he didn’t eat for a day—so what? He’d gone longer. But it’d been years since he actually skipped meals. Living with Pidge and Shiro _definitely_ weakened him in that department. 

He flopped on the ground and kicked his legs up against the wall, walking his feet aimlessly up and down in time with the pulsing of his stomach growls whenever he exhaled. His hands were flat on his stomach, feeling the murmurings, when a loud noise dragged him back into existence. 

“Get up.” The voice reverberated in the pit of Keith’s stomach as he flopped his legs to the side and sat, looking anywhere but the door. “I said, _get up_.”

Keith gritted his teeth and pushed himself to his feet, joints creaking with the effort after sitting for so long. “You are going to eat. Follow me,” Zarkon ordered, voice gruff as he turned from the open entrance and walked off. The hall was dark, but not nearly as dark as the room. Keith could see almost perfect as he followed after Zarkon, eyes pegged on the broad, heavy structure of Zarkon’s back beneath his royal clothes.

Keith placed his hands over his belt, wishing that every last pocket was filled. The guards had taken every last one of Keith’s weapons, and he recalled how wary they all were of him as Zarkon held Keith still. He remembered kicking and snarling as every last blade was unsheathed.

They walked silently to the main stairwell, attached to Haggar’s den. She wasn’t there—he half-hoped she’d be. Even if he despised her, and wanted her just as dead as Zarkon, he figured magic like that was better left untampered with. 

Keith walked dutifully simply because the prospect of food in his belly was too great to ignore. He winced at the thought of it. Food was how the gangs controlled everyone. Shelter was one thing, but _food…_

Every last kid stayed there for the daily meals. 

Zarkon seemed to understand the meaning of survival well enough to manipulate Keith into following him peacefully through the marble halls of the palace.

Zarkon wore a partial cloak, one with silver clasps on either side of his right shoulder. His stature was contained within a dark, close-fitted uniform. The sharp diagonals narrowed his hips, and emphasized his barrel-chested torso. Keith ignore any and all details that linked him to Zarkon, but perhaps that was a childish notion. Purposefully ignorant. Foolishly so.

They were in the living quarters, and at last came to a dining hall not unlike Shiro’s. It was grander, though, with a skylight and tall draperies and family crests. Keith ignored the fact that he couldn’t even remember what time of day it was when he, Allura, and Coran snuck into Haggar’s experimentation lab. It was dark now, though, so the room was enveloped in a warm glow.

“Sit wherever you like,” Zarkon said, only now turning to the side and facing Keith. He dismissed the servant by the door to fetch the meal.

Keith stared at the length of the table, at the golden decorations and table mats. He stood still, unmoving even when Zarkon sighed.

Keith’s eyes were wide, constantly aware of Zarkon in his peripheral vision. He couldn’t understand what the King was doing. Why would he bring him here? Even with Zeena, he didn’t seem like the sort of man to patiently wait for decisions to be made. He didn’t do anything. He just stood there and waited, hands clasped behind his back.

_What’s he doing why am I here why give me a choice where do I go_ —

And suddenly the aroma of food hit Keith like a brick to the face. He could taste every bit of it—down to the cinnamon sugar dessert plate and the honey smoked meat. His stomach ached for it, and the second the servant came in and found no one at the table, Keith jumped ahead.

He took the chair three seats in, facing Zarkon with the doors on either end in his periphery. The servant stepped in, followed by several others, and Keith waited, hands clasped between his knees as the food was served. It took every fiber of his being to prevent himself from diving face-first into the plate. 

Even after the water was served and the servants were dismissed, Keith didn’t eat. Until the food was right before him, he nearly forgot one of Coran’s best friends—

“The food isn’t poisoned. It would not be beneficial for me if you were to die,” Zarkon said, slowly approaching the chair across from him. There was a great distance between them, but Zarkon reached across it all and took Keith’s water glass from him. 

Keith watched the King take a sip of it and set it back down with a complacent grin on his face. “It’s easy to fake-swallow a sip,” Keith commented, but took the glass anyway and chugged it all down in one go. 

As Keith dove into the food, foregoing the formality of silverware to pick up the chicken leg by the bone, Zarkon continued to study him. After several bites, Zarkon refilled Keith’s cup himself, and poured himself a glass as well. They watched each other from across the table until Zarkon, at last, cleared his throat.

“Where were you before living with the Shiroganes?” he asked. Keith hesitated, the food in his mouth making him salivate more than he cared to admit. He swallowed it down and kept eating. “I will make assumptions then, and you will tell me whether or not they are true,” Zarkon said. “You lived in Bulmera.”

Keith kept eating, shoveling steamed vegetables into his mouth with a fork. 

“You lived on the streets.”

Keith glanced at him with a glare, lowering his fork. “What makes you say that?” he demanded, covering his mouth with a hand. The action said it all, and it brought a knowing grin to Zarkon’s lips. 

“Refined individuals wouldn’t stoop to eating with their hands, even if starved for a day,” Zarkon said. Keith lowered his hands to the edge of the table, aware that they were sticky with the honey-seasoned chicken. He had a feeling that Zarkon only knew this because Keith wasn’t the first person to be starved and fed like royalty a day later.

“You lived with someone, when you were in the slums,” Zarkon said. “Who was it?”

“I didn’t live with anyone,” Keith said, regretting it instantly. He stuffed food in his mouth to keep the rest hidden there.

Zarkon fell silent, but Keith could feel the tension like a second skin. It was unnerving, being watched eating. Before he hadn’t noticed—he’d been so consumed by getting food into his mouth that it hadn’t mattered whether or not someone watched. But now he felt like one of Haggar’s experiments. 

He studied Zarkon again, only now capable of seeing the man’s bloodshot eye where Keith nearly mutilated it. He _should have_ been able to mutilate it—he’d done that before and it worked fine. But somehow Zarkon came out of it with nothing more than a red ring around his iris and veins all along the whites of his eyes. His wrist wasn’t even bandaged. There wasn’t even a scar.

It was almost as if nothing even happened—not even to Zarkon’s palm. 

Keith gripped the handle of his fork with such force that piercing a stack of chopped carrots was more like stabbing a sword through a corpse. He bit them off one by one, somehow furious that none of his wounds seemed to damage Zarkon, and yet Keith was still sporting a bruised ring around his neck, and the phantom ache of having his bones crushed in Zarkon’s grasp.

He wondered if Zarkon even noticed that he completely crushed Keith’s hand, and that it was functioning well again.

“Who took Takashi,” Zarkon asked.

“I’m _not_ telling you—”

“ _Keith_ ,” he snarled, leaning against the table, his hand halfway across. “ _Answer the question_.”

Keith’s lips curled back, and he looked up to meet Zarkon’s eyes again. “I won’t let you hurt him again,” he snapped. “I don’t care who you are—I _will kill you_ if you get to Shiro.”

They glared at one another, hands tense against the table. Keith’s fingers cramped around the fork squeezed between his fingers. He waited for Zarkon to say something—he knew there was something on the tip of Zarkon’s tongue, and whatever it was, he expected it to be a string of curses.

Instead, he relaxed slightly—tense, as always—but managed to sit back slightly in his chair. “Where is Takashi’s daughter, then.”

It seemed like such a far leap, and Keith’s mind worked to fill in the gap. Was he assuming that wherever Pidge was, he would find Shiro as well? Keith blinked at him, uttering, “I don’t know.”

“Interesting,” he mused, drumming his fingernail on the table, far enough that it would be a stretch to stab it. Keith’s minute shock dissipated into panic. 

“Why?” he demanded, trying desperately to catch up to Zarkon. What was he suggesting? Did he know where Pidge was? 

“You seem to care about her,” Zarkon commented, “which I find interesting. I may not have lived on the street—but we share two things in common: having attachments are nothing more than an inconvenience. Because wouldn’t it be a shame if I were to have Katie in my custody? What would you do to get her back?”

Keith had never felt so much rage in such a short period of time. All the two days he spent tormented by the thought that Lance’s family was taken, Shiro was taken, and finding Pidge in Allura’s office—it meant everything to him.

So he didn’t hesitate to grab the edge of his plate, prepared to fling it at Zarkon’s throat. Zarkon got up and grabbed his wrist before he could, but it gave him leverage to plunge the tongs of his fork into hand Zarkon kept on the table. Not bothering to yank it out, Keith went for his spoon and jabbed it against Zarkon’s larynx. 

Instantly he choked, overcome by the block in his throat preventing air from entering his lungs. Keith slammed both hands over Zarkon’s head, not realizing it until Zarkon didn’t sit up again—

The fork’s handle was still protruding from his hand. Zarkon’s head was slumped over it.

Keith scrambled back, tripping into the chair and falling with it. He tried frantically to remember if he heard the squelch—there was usually a squelch when a blade cut through flesh, right? All he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears, and see the red beginning to seep across the tabletop. 

“Oh God—” Keith squeaked, shoving himself to his feet and staring at Zarkon’s head again, where the blood oozed out underneath him. Against all rational thought, Keith reached over and lifted Zarkon’s head up and off the handle of the fork—then there was the squelch of his eye socket freeing the metal.

Keith ran before he had the chance to run into the servant that came to check on them. He wasn’t quite far enough away to avoid hearing the girl’s scream, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there was a sequel to this it would be all about Keith's degenerating ability to control himself. But I'm not here for that. Also I'm glad we covered the topic of Keith's actual age I'm sure he was concerned about it. They were like a year off--seventeen, eighteen, what's the difference??


	19. Surprise Party Sneak Attack

Zeena was more or less indifferent to being crowned Queen. She was entirely apathetic about Keith—but he supposed that was better than being completely devoted to Keith’s downfall. He would settle for apathetic.

It took months for her position to be cleared, and the coronation to be settled. Keith assumed it was because he and Coran were responsible for several other deaths that followed after Zarkon’s. Mostly council members, which Zeena was wordlessly grateful for. In the end she wouldn’t _have_ to get married. Technically.

But before any of that, there was the mad-dash through the servant’s quarters, meeting one of Allura’s birds, and being set free to the world while the palace settled into a quiet panic in hopes of containing the murder. 

He jumped the castle wall and dropped down the other side, hitting the ground running. He ran through the dark as if he owned it—like he was one of Haggar’s shadows, one of Allura’s assassins. And he only hoped his name would forever be unknown to the world. He would never receive the repercussions of assassinating the King.

There were owls out at this time of night, so he dissolved into the shadows of the alleys and climbed up to the rooftops. He sprinted across them, leaping boundlessly from one to the other. He could see the marketplace. He wanted Shiro and Pidge and—

 _Lance_.

His heartbeat quickened, and as he slid down the slope of a three-story building, he threw his arms up hollering up at the sky. He spun around and dropped down, landing hard on his two feet as he jogged the distance through the empty marketplace. The brick streets were familiar, and the lamplight through the windows reminded Keith that this was just another day to common people.

But today he could see Lance and be with Lance and he wouldn’t have to hide the fact that being an mimic both thrilled and terrified him.

He remained invisible as he walked along the storefronts, keeping his eyes tuned in to the owls that seemed more attentive than ever. He slipped into the alleyway with the maroon door, and with the heel of his palm, he managed to unlock it with little difficulty at all.

He tested the locks on the inner door and one by one they came free. Perhaps it was the adrenaline surging through his system that sent him bolting through the door, only to stumble at the sight of _everyone_ down below.

The sound of his abrupt arrival sent everyone to their feet around the central table, and instantly Pidge let out a relieved cry, bolting over the table and lunging for the stairs. Keith flew down them and rammed into her, letting her arms tangle around his neck. A second later he was sandwiched by his father, reeling them into a group hug that only seemed to bring heat to Keith’s eyes. He squeezed them shut and breathed shakily against Shiro’s chest.

“Oh God, Keith…” Shiro cried out against Keith’s hair, kissing his forehead as he pulled away. “I’m so sorry I never told you—”

“It’s not your fault,” Keith said quickly, shaking his head as Pidge uncurled her arms from around his neck. She dropped onto her feet and looked up at them. 

“ _Keeith!_ ” 

He startled at the sound, and turned just in time to be tackled by Lance. His entire face went hot as Lance clung to him, flush against his front and eyes glittering. Keith couldn’t stop the smile that overcame him when Lance tucked his face against Keith’s neck and squeezed him hard around the middle. It felt like his insides were burning, but in the best way possible.

“Are you all right? Your neck—it’s—” Lance started, pulling away so he could brush his hands over the bruised marks surrounding Keith’s neck. He lifted a hand up and over Lance’s, smiling lightly.

“I’m fine now. I’m here,” he said, and if it weren’t for the fact that their entire families were watching, he was sure Lance would have kissed him. He liked to think that he knew Lance’s expressions well, and the one he wore then told Keith as much.

The moment they separated, Lord McClain was there to clasp a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Thank you, for getting my family out alive,” he said, expression soft. Keith nodded wordlessly, flushing under the attention. “I appreciate what you did. I am grateful that you are Takashi’s son and not the King’s.”

Keith went red as he said, “Thanks…”

Lance laughed, swinging an arm around Keith’s shoulder just seconds before they were both tackled at the legs by Sebastian. “Keith! I want to join your gang!” he shouted, and Keith laughed nervously, glancing up at Anita McClain as she walked over and plucked Sebastian off of him. 

“You will do no such thing,” she said. She grinned at Keith, and her soft, motherly affection warmed the inside of Keith’s chest. She set Seb aside so she could reach out and pull both Lance and Keith into a strong hug. “You are an incredible young man. I am also grateful Takashi has you,” she whispered.

She released them, but Lance kept his hold on Keith. He placed his hand over Lance’s upper back, leaning into him as Seb jumped up to them again asking questions about the palace and whether or not he got into any fistfights. 

Keith chuckled a little, and resisted the urge to rub his hands through Seb’s hair. He could feel Zarkon’s blood still on his hand from when he stabbed the fork through his hand.

Allura and Coran stood by the table, observing the McClains and Shiroganes as they crowded Keith. He realized that this wasn’t just a gathering for him—they were all here because they had to be. There were blankets strewn across the floors, pillows here and there—they were camped out here while Keith was stuck in the palace. 

Keith turned to Shiro as the conglomeration of thankfulness and yada-yada-yada subsided. His eyes went to Shiro’s arm, which was hidden behind a heavy sweater that wasn’t recognizable to Keith. He probably wasn’t even wearing his own clothes.

He stepped away from Lance only to fall into Shiro’s arms, trying his best not to care that one of his hands was as cold as metal. “I should have told you sooner—I took you in _knowing_ who your father was and I just… I _couldn’t—_ ” Shiro started, voice breaking off.

“You’re my father,” Keith said. “You were my father before and after I found out about the King. You will always be my father, Shiro. And I’m sorry about what he did to you, and what Haggar did to you—it’s all my fault…”

“It isn’t. It isn’t your fault at all,” Shiro insisted, shaking his head against the side of Keith’s hair. He breathed out shakily, tucking his face into Shiro’s shoulder. “I’m glad you are safe. Zarkon is going to pay for what he’s done.”

 _Already taken care of_.

  


  


Within the first few weeks of Zeena’s rule, Allura agreed on a meeting with her to settle the disturbances in the slums. After Zarkon’s collapse, the celebrations in the slums got out of hand. They ended in owl-controlled riots, fires, and an explosion near the river that practically decommissioned the travel bridge over it. 

Many of the riots were charged by Allura’s following without her explicit orders. She was bitter over the continuation of Zarkon’s line being in charge, but that didn’t mean she started the fights. Though, she was the voice of reason behind them that stopped the charge on the palace—Keith figured this was as a way of showing the new Queen who was truly in control of over half the population in the capital city.

But before Allura and Zeena first met, Keith snuck in through the window of Lance’s room, invisible until he reached the bed. He sat down, to take off his shoes, but he felt Lance’s hands curve over his shoulder. He slumped over Keith’s back and said, wide awake, “I want to go on the rooftops.”

“What?” Keith laughed. “Don’t you want to sleep?”

“We’ll sleep afterwards. I wanna go on the rooftops,” he said, the smooth skin of his cheek pressed up against Keith’s ear. His hands were still tucked around the laces of his boots. “Come on, you always get to go on the roofs. I _never_ get to go on the roofs.”

“You’re afraid of heights, though,” Keith argued, remembering the time they ate ice cream outside of his bedroom window at the Shirogane estate. Lance kept himself at _least_ a foot away from the edge at all times. “And you won’t be able to see the handholds I put out.”

“I don’t care…” Lance groaned, flopping to the side. He feigned his death sequence, clutching his heart. “I will never live if I don’t get to see the city like you _dooo_ …”

Keith sighed, rolling his head back and dropping his boot back down on the ground. “Fine. Wear something other than your pajamas—”

“Already way ahead of you!” he exclaimed, and instantly Keith hissed for him to calm down—the McClains still didn’t know that Keith visited on a nightly basis, when he could, anyway. 

Lance threw out his arms as if to say, “Tada!” He was wearing clothes that were as close as he could get to Keith’s uniform. Keith looked at it for a split second and turned away so Lance wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing Keith’s uncontrollable blush. 

“Good, now come on,” he ordered, grabbing Lance by the hand without even looking, and dragged him off the bed.

Keith went down the windowsill first, on hand on Lance’s until he had to go below the first handhold. Lance looked down at it—Keith could see the reflective surface where Lance’s face curved around the edge of the flat, invisible surface. He reached a hand down and pressed his finger against it, and then his entire hand. “Whoa, it’s right there,” he commented.

Keith rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I said as much. Foot first.” Lance followed Keith down step by step, often times letting Keith guide Lance’s foot here and there. Keith dropped down several steps before the ground, and attempted to encourage Lance to do the same. But Lance only clung to the wall tighter until he reached his foot down, toes pointed, and touched the ground.

They jogged through the McClain estate garden, and Keith hoisted Lance up the garden wall. Keith swung up after him, and rolled onto the other side where Lance was still struggling to lower himself down. Keith grabbed him by the waist and pried him off the wall, carrying him some distance simply because it irritated Lance to be manhandled. 

When they came to the city, Lance had better control over the handholds. He followed Keith up a brick wall and onto a section of the rooftop. They went to the sloped side and climbed higher up, to the level of most of the rooftops around them. Lance’s fingers clung between Keith’s, and he stepped close enough for Keith to hear his amazed gasp.

“So you get to see this every day?” Lance asked, the moonlight whiting out his complexion. His eyes were wide and not quite as puppy-like anymore, but Keith adored them anyway. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Lance’s, catching him off guard. After a second they blended together, lips soft against the coarse touch of Keith’s fingers over the gentle skin on Lance’s cheek.

He pulled back, leaning his head up against Lance’s forehead. He could see every thread of color in Lance’s blue eyes. He could see every pore, every eyelash—

“Yeah, I get to see this every day. But this isn’t even the best part,” Keith said, grinning. “Come on.”

They started jumping rooftops. Keith put out thin, solid surfaces between the gaps in the case that Lance didn’t quite make the jump. There was one time that happened, and he couldn’t stop screaming even when he realized that he was standing on thin air, not falling. Keith couldn’t stop laughing.

They got to the highest building on that side of the city and laid there for the longest time, studying the stars that the full moon didn’t wash out. Lance had his arm behind Keith, and he couldn’t help but curl into Lance’s side, feeling giddy with the heat rising in his cheeks and the stupid grin on his face. 

He loved Lance so damn much. He couldn’t imagine his life without Lance in it. It seemed like they were always together, one way or the other. Being with Lance tethered Keith to the ground. He didn’t have to worry about what he said, what he did—

But there were still nightmares. Now and again.

“Hey Lance,” Keith whispered, and Lance hummed thoughtfully. “Are you ever worried about me losing control?”

Lance giggled a little and said, “You can lose control with me _any time—_ ”

“That’s not what I meant,” Keith cried out, going red when Lance continued to pester him about it. “I’m talking about, like, hurting you. Or other innocent people.”

Lance calmed down enough to sit up. Keith lifted himself off Lance’s chest to look him in the eye. “What makes you think you’re even… capable of losing control? I mean, you’re so chill all the time.”

He pursed his lips as Lance went on. He felt uncomfortable thinking about it, let alone saying it out loud. “I’ve done it before, though. With King Zarkon, I just sort of… lost it. I didn’t know what was happening until it was already done. I didn’t even know I killed him right away. What if—What if that happens again? I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“It was just one time. I don’t think you have to worry about it. Besides, I trust you—you’re in control,” Lance said, but Keith shook his head, rubbing a hand over his temple.

“But it _wasn’t_ just ‘one time’. I’ve done it before—like… when I was thirteen and I _killed_ Rollo…” he started, brow tense. His jaw ticked at the thought. He pressed his teeth together before biting out, “I just lost control and I was _thirteen_.”

“Hey, hey,” Lance slowed him down, taking him by the hand. He clasped both his hands around Keith’s, and squeezed it. “I am not worried about you hurting me. You _aren’t_ going to hurt me, or Hunk, or Pidge… There’s a difference between us and the people you’ve killed. They were bad people— _incredibly_ bad people. You haven’t hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it, and you _won’t_. I promise.”

“How can you make a promise over something you can’t control?” Keith asked. “I can’t control it—”

“Okay, that’s insane,” Lance said, laughing a little. “You are completely in control of who you hurt and who you don’t. That’s just how life works. And I have _so much faith_ in you, Keith. Like, you’re the most incredible human being I’ve ever met.” 

Keith leaned in and pressed his forehead to Lance’s chest. They didn’t say anything for some time until Lance suggested they head back to the house. Keith figured he would just have to trust Lance as much as Lance trusted him. Maybe then he might be able to stop worrying over past events.

  


  


Pidge plotted to kidnap Hunk and dragged Keith and Lance in during the final touches. 

Keith hadn’t realized she was serious about it until she sat him down on the floor of her room alongside Lance, and dragged out a detailed chart that included realistic sketches of the safe house, of the Garrett estate, of Hunk’s room and where they would find him that night. There was a sketch of one of Coran’s poison bottles, which she yanked out of her pocket and held into the air. 

Keith shrieked at the sight of it and snatched it out of her hand. “Are you insane! This would make him sick for _weeks_!”

“I just picked one out for emphasis,” she said, “but I was thinking you could knock him out with one of your… sleepy-time potions Coran’s always all about.”

“How do you know about his sleepy-time poisons anyway?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at her. She stared him down, and they watched one another in silence until she finally said:

“Coran’s been teaching me things.”

Keith’s jaw dropped, and he looked at Lance as if expecting him to know about this. Lance shrugged innocently. “I’m gonna have a word with Coran about this,” Keith said, but stiffly sat back down on Pidge’s request. 

She flattened out the blueprint and began the process of laying out the details. She dragged her fingers across the roads on the map, pointed to Lance and Keith when their parts came up. They planned the kidnapping for that same night following the pitch.

Keith stopped by the safe house before the heist and strategically avoided Coran’s questions by staying silent as he sifted through the poison cabinets. Pidge joined him and instantly hurried to the back room, dodging Coran completely. She stepped into the room and said, “This will be _perfect_. Hey Coran, do you have any lamps?”

“Are you planning an interrogation?” he asked.

“More like ‘ _plotting_ ’,” Keith muttered, pocketing the vial and turning back just as Coran began shuffling around one of his many closets. “Do you have a body bag?”

His mentor scoffed, mocking, “‘ _Do I have a body bag_ ’, what do you take me for?” Keith rolled his eyes, musing, _So I’ll take that as a ‘yes’_.

They charged out of the safe house equipped with the supplies necessary for a kidnapping—ropes, gag, and everything. Pidge peered into the body bag and and said, “If we get caught with this, what do we say?” 

“Nothing.”

“But what if they assume, you know, something _other_ than kidnapping?” she said, wriggling her eyebrows. Keith stared blankly at her as she continued to make that suggestive face. Whatever the case, he brushed it off and took the bag from her. He glared at her and kept walking.

They hopped into the vehicle Shiro provided—not realizing the intentions of it—and Pidge told the driver to head to the Garretts. Inside the cabin, Lance reached for the bag from where he’d been sitting at the window. Keith collapsed next to him, foot partially up on the bench across from him where Pidge was. She was sniggering quietly to herself throughout the trip.

“Do you think Hunk will actually fall for this?” Keith asked. “Like, we aren’t permanently scarring him or anything?”

“ _What?_ No, we aren’t gonna _physically_ hurt him… right?” Lance squeaked. “I mean, his mother might get kinda angry if we—”

“No, I think Keith means mentally scarred,” Pidge corrected. “I mean, Hunk is kinda soft. Which is what will make this even _better_!” She dissolved into a fit of demonic giggles, rubbing her hands together. Keith reached over to smack them down onto her lap.

“And I wouldn’t physically hurt him anyway,” Keith said, leaning back and draping an arm over Lance’s shoulders. He hoped Lance was right about his self-control. He couldn’t possibly imagine _actually_ hurting Hunk—the guy was just too sweet for that. 

  


  


Hunk bundled up in his gran’s quilted blanket for the night. He always liked to sleep like a burrito—he slept better when he was contained in a warm pocket of quilted goodness. It took only a few seconds of breathing in the fresh, clean scent of the fabric before he fell unconscious—

—for the time being.

Sometimes he tended to snore, and even if he woke himself up it wasn’t like it was a huge deal. But in the middle of the night he woke up choking—like he swallowed his saliva wrong. He nearly bolted up, but something slammed onto his shoulder, holding him down. 

“Shit—” someone cursed, but it could have just been Hunk because he was now coughing.

He lifted a hand to shove off that annoyingly heavy thing on his shoulder, but his hand went around a wrist, and then a—a _hand—_!

Before he could let out a girlish scream, the intruder slapped their hand over Hunk’s mouth. Out of instinct he bit it, but it felt like he was swimming—like he was in a dream and everything he did was a bit muted. He tried to shove them off and no matter how crazy his brain was screaming, he couldn’t get away to save his life.

He was squirming hard, and as he shouted, words slurred, “I swear I didn’t break the statue! That was like— _two years ago_ —!” he flopped over the side of the bed and fell on top of something—someone? 

All was black then, and he didn’t exist until consciousness came back, and he jolted forward—Why wasn’t he in his bed? Shouldn’t he be horizontal? This was totally vertical… _What the hell is going on—_

A lamp flickered on overhead, and he squinted against it. The world washed out in white, and slowly faded back in around the edges. He took in the edge of a table, his hands laid out in front of him, cuffed to the surface. He tugged on them to no use. Both the table and the cuffs were bolted into the ground.

“H-Hey, what’s going on?!” he shouted, legs straining under the rope tying his legs to the chair. “This isn’t— _This isn’t funny,_ all right? I didn’t do anything!”

“Are you sure about that?” a voice breathed against the shell of his ear. Hunk jerked away from it, screaming incoherently and constantly until his voice faded—the figure stepped out of the shadows, rounding the table. He recognized the hand that trailed over the table.

“ _Keith!_ Oh thank God—someone kidnapped me and I was having this dream about sandwiches made of _cookies_ and _ice cream_ and I just really want to get back to tha— _EEP!_ ” he wailed the second something sharp and metal and _deadly_ sunk into the wood by his curled knuckles. He was so tense he had his hands in fists, and his middle knuckle skimmed the cold metal of Keith’s knife.

Keith leaned over the table, his fist still wrapped around the dagger’s handle. Hunk whimpered, head ducking between his shoulders. “I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING I SWEAR!” he cried out, “I SWEAR I’M NOT TRYNA STEAL LANCE FROM YOU—You gotta understand I’ve known him since we were in diapers and I may or may not have seen him pants-less one time but that was because of a swimming accident and his shorts came off I didn’t mean to look it’s _not my fault_ we were like four years old aaHAHAHA PLEASE DON’T HURT ME—”

Keith dislodged the knife in one aggressive swipe up—Hunk felt the metal scrape against his knuckles and it sent his entire body quaking. “ _WHERE DID YOU GET A KNIFE?!_ ” he all but screamed, only to end in a childlike squeal when Keith leaned all the way over, dragging the edge of the blade on the underside of Hunk’s chin.

He was quiet, dark eyes menacing. Hunk could feel himself sweating profusely—or maybe that was just the little bit of pee that came out

After a moment’s pause, Keith’s eyes narrowed— _he swore Keith looked like he was about to stab Hunk through next Wednesday_. “How much of Lance did you see? Exactly?” he asked, voice deadly still.

“Dude, I’m not gonna lie to you, just— _please_ don’t put that knife anywhere near my f-f-fACE—DEAR LORD ALMIGHTY!” Hunk cried out. “WHERE DID YOU GET A KNIFE?!”

Keith retracted the blade in one flick, twisting it between his fingers like one would a pencil. He ended by pinching the blade between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ve always had a knife. Every single time you’ve seen me, I’ve had one. Somewhere. In my boot, waistband, the sheath you never noticed on my lower back…”

Hunk narrowed his eyes, not daring to lower his chin for a second. “You’re kidding.”

“Does this look like I’m kidding?” Keith sneered, now perched on the edge of the table as he flung his arm back, knife soaring. It pierced into something made of wood, and the lights came on, revealing—

“Lance! Lance oh my God!” Hunk shrieked, lurching forward in his chair only to be held back by the restraints. His best friend was tied to the damn wall, a knife stuck out of the surface no more than a foot from his head. Lance’s voice was muffled behind the cloth gag in his mouth.

“ _How much of Lance did you see?!_ ” Keith demanded, voice sharp. Hunk squeaked, eyes flickering between Lance and Keith, Lance and Keith, Lance and Keith—

“HAVE YOU BEEN HURTING LANCE THIS WHOLE TIME?!” Hunk screamed, thrashing in his chair. “ _You have knives!_ Were you bullying him into liking you?!” 

At this Keith visibly hesitated, a look of confusion on his face, throwing knife half-lifted from that… wicked weapon belt on his hips. _Stop focusing on the knives,_ Hunk coached himself as he attempted to stand up from the chair. 

“What? No, I just take this very seriously,” Keith said, jabbing a knife in Lance’s direction. “Lance is my _boyfriend—_ ”

“Yeah, and I’m his best friend too! So… I get to see him naked by default,” Hunk said, sitting back with a look of self-satisfaction on his face. “We’re like brothers. Whi _iiich…_ means _you can’t hurt him!_ Not on my watch.”

“I’m not hurting him!” Keith countered, knife twisting in his grasp. “I just threw a knife at him that _doesn’t mean—_ ”

Hunk was straining so hard against the ropes on his legs that the knot loosened. He stood up and kicked the chair back, screaming, “ _NO MORE KNIVES! Give me the knife!_ ”

“What? No, this is my knife,” Keith argued. 

“No more knives!”

“But it’s _my_ knife!” 

“Let Lance go then!”

“No, he likes it,” Keith said, leaning back to look at Lance. Hunk’s best friend gave a nonchalant shrug. “See? He doesn’t mind it.”

“Then what’s he doing tied up? Why’d you tie him up?” Hunk asked, leaning over the table with a confused look on his face.

“For dramatic effect!” a familiar voice popped up from behind, sending Hunk into a screaming fit. Katie spiraled out from behind him, sliding across the table with a hand raised as if to say, “Tada!”—which Lance actually said, but it was muffled by the gag.

Keith grabbed the cloth and ripped it out of Lance’s mouth, who sputtered and licked his lips. Hunk yelped out, “Lance! Are you okay?!”

“Yeah, buddy, I’m fine,” he replied, and tipped his head towards Keith. “I’d be better if you tied me up in a bed like this _all the time_ …”

“That isn’t how legitimate imprisonment goes,” Keith argued, ever the rational one, and Lance deflated, arms slack against the ropes. Keith didn’t bother untying him, though.

Hunk felt his already hot eyes begin to mist over. Katie sat up on the table as Hunk said, “Why’d you kidnap me then? Why do you have so many knives? I get that you throw knives as a hobby but…”

Katie leaned back into Keith and swung her legs off the table. “Time for the show!” she cheered, and as she spun behind Keith—

Keith vanished into thin air.

Katie flung out her arms, hands waving excitedly. Hunk jumped, startled by the disappearance and not quite piecing it together. “Where’d—where’d he go? Is there a trapdoor or—”

Suddenly his vision was filled entirely by Keith’s face—leaning over the table so their noses barely touched, “ _Surprise_ ,” he grinned as Hunk yelped and would have fallen backwards if his cuffed hands didn’t require that he faint to the side. 

Katie clapped her hands together as Keith rolled off the table to hold up Hunk’s body with the chair. “Well, I’d say that was a success, huh?” she said, grinning at Lance who was still chained up to the wall. He gave her two thumbs up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted Hunk to just BREAK the metal handcuffs and go all Hulk on Keith, but that wouldn't be very realistic. Also, I hope you enjoyed that comedic little detour for an ending! Thanks for all the awesome feedback--I read and loved every bit of your comments. I know for a FACT that I'll be filling my free time with SOMETHING fanfiction related, and it'll probs end up being based on the results of that survey a while back. 
> 
> There were some new responses, but a Keith-centric urban sorcery AU will be on the way and I have MANY great ideas for it. Let me know if there's anything specific you want to see. But Pidge will DEFINITELY play another big part because I love my lovely space child...
> 
> My original work can be found over on [Wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/user/-SarahCorner-)! I have an action/adventure fantasy book on there if you like that style--it's called [_The Immortal Chronicles_](https://www.wattpad.com/202194533-the-immortal-chronicles-prelude). Other than that, I'll see you guys in the other AU!


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